Birthright
by Willa Dedalus
Summary: What happens when your whole world changes? The life you have always known ripped away, and in its place a new identity, and a new love. Only time can tell what will happen. This story is a canon AU reimagining Matthew and Mary's relationship from the beginning.
1. Chapter 1

_Birthright_, as a story idea was born in New Orleans in the company of R. Grace. We were chatting and brainstorming while on vacation together for new Matthew and Mary Fanfic ideas, and then voilà! Although we had that original notion right off the bat the execution of the storyline and focus of the plot, took a lot longer to develop. Besides this, we both have other all consuming AU stories we have been crafting.

My deepest appreciation goes to R. Grace as we hammered out the basics of this story together! However, then I required more help in regards to how to write canon Lady Mary. Since so many elements have been changed, I sought the help of a creative consultant, who could advise me about her, 'voice,' I am in debt to Carissa for this help and polish! I find it easy to write Matthew but a challenge to write Mary and thus, it was Carissa's push that has kept me motivated with this new project, which is completely and utterly different from, '_This Modern Love_.'

So, without further ado, now I am proud to present this first chapter!

* * *

"My dearest," Dr. Reginald Crawley said to his wife.

In his arms, he held a swaddled baby. Isobel he could see was still woozy from the emergency cesarean. And yet her eyes were hungry for confirmation that they had finally started a family of their own. He smiled at the richness of his wives tender gaze. The frantic pleas she had made during the long delivery still rang in his ears. But now the first light of the day was shining through the hospitals bay windows. It had been a very long night, but now there was a new dawn.

"Meet our son," he said gently placing the small bundle into her arms, careful of her swollen stitched belly. The baby's fingers grabbed hers instantly, and she stroked the wisps of blond hair. Dr. Crawley presumed her small laugh was at the twist of fate; she had been sure she was carrying a girl. It was a certainty that had never ceased to amaze him through the agonizing months of her latest pregnancy. This was one scenario, however, where his tenacious wife did not mind being wrong. He was filled with an overwhelming, crushing love for her as she held their new son. It tore at him deeply that he had come so close to losing her. But at last they had a child of their own, a beautiful and healthy baby boy.

"Gift of god,"...Isobel said quietly using the name meaning they had chosen if they were blessed with a boy.  
Dr. Crawley watched his wife breastfeeding the greedy newborn. She silenced the babe's sudden cries by instantly understanding the reason for the demanding shriek. He was a robust child; there would be no need to fret about his future. And although a stoic man and a dignified professional he still felt tears cloud his eyes at what he had done. The hospital delivery had made their dreams come true. Dr. Crawley put a hand through his grey hair. The joy was palpable on Isobel's pale, but glowing face.

"There now," he said with loving compassion as he watched his wife weep as the sensation of nursing their child continued. She smiled through her tears with euphoric grace. "I told you I would make everything work out for the best," he said with reassurance as he leaned down to kiss his wives head.

* * *

*1912*

Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham sat in London at the Savoy sipping his cup of Earl Grey tea. It had started with a telegram. With the loss of his cousin James and his son Patrick, the next heir had not been easy to locate. It had been a grim business. And he was still not completely sure how his eldest child, the Lady Mary was coping with the loss of her fiancé. She had told him she wanted to mourn him as only a cousin. However, sometimes her denials spoke to him about the volume of her feelings, more than any seemingly candid words or actions. And his wife Cora encouraged this perspective. With this loss, went Mary's assured prospect of inheriting Downton through marriage. It was a deep blow indeed.

Robert tried to shake his head out of his private musings. He was here to meet his third cousin's boy after all. Mr. Matthew Crawley was a young bachelor and a solicitor that lived with his widowed mother in Manchester. The home of his new heir gave him pause. He had known the last Earl of Walthym, the great benefactor of that city. That rebellious man had set a dangerous example. In parliament, he loved to start quarrels and always wanted to debate political matters. To Robert, this meant; he didn't take his duty seriously. Walthym was a fop and playboy who simply wanted to waste everyone's time. A socialist mania of public property occupied Manchester. The city council of Manchester had even opened the territory that Jeremiah Marling, Earl of Walthym had decreed into municipal greenery, renamed Heaton Park. It was the end of an era for an estate that had existed since the 14th century.

An almost violent shiver corrupted through Robert's frame when he thought of Downton becoming a public estate. Every Tom, Dick and Harry being permitted to trample through his land once it was renamed and called a park. Its acres divided up for municipal benefactors rather than for his blood kin. It was preposterous. But it had happened in Manchester. And so this was his main source of apprehension about the young solicitor from such a strange town. He would have to appeal to his sense of family, honor and duty. Robert knew he would have to stress the importance of legacy when explaining this inheritance. He presumed Matthew would not understand country life as Manchester's urbanization and the industrial factories were astonishingly vulgar. And yet he could hardly insult a man's home. Robert drummed his fingers on the tablecloth. He smiled thinking of how it was probably made in Manchester's cotton mills.

Robert sipped his tea and grimaced, the drink had cooled while he pondered these dull thoughts. As a waiter approached, he noticed the young man he presumed must be his heir. And he smiled. Surely this innocent fellow would fit neatly into his pocket. Robert approved of the prim tidiness of his chosen suit and he could see he had an elegant pocket watch on a chain. His blond hair gave him the appearance of youthful vitality. Although he was not a plump young man, he was of a sturdy build just the same. And then to his surprise, Robert saw an older woman walking just behind him. Murray had stressed the good fortune that this man was a bachelor. But the only explanation he could think of was this young man now had an older fiancée. This was highly irregular. And yet despite this reservation, he rose from his seat, to greet his guests with enthusiasm.

"Mr. Crawley," he said with gusto. "It is marvelous to meet you at last. I've enjoyed our correspondence immensely."

His new heir nervously seemed to be caught off guard. And Robert was relieved already by his lack of arrogance or pomp. He knew from his penmanship he had a carefully controlled stroke to his writing. And Robert had always believed that a lot could be inferred from the technique of a person's penmanship. The presentation spoke volumes about their personality, background and education. And with Mr. Matthew Crawley he had seen a conventionally elegant script.

"Lord Grantham," The young man said after a slight pause as they shook hands. "Thank you for meeting me. I hope you don't mind my mother joining us," he said tactfully introducing his mysterious companion.

"Mrs. Reginald Crawley," he said with a pleasant smile.

As they sat and chatted, Robert came to believe in divine providence. Despite the unorthodox decision of including his mother in this meeting, this young man was everything he desired in a protégé and heir. It was a marvelous turn of events, better than he had dared hope.

"Cousin Robert," Isobel Crawley, said using the term he had already offered to his new relations. "Matthew has discussed your offer to live in, Crawley House, near your estate with me," She set down her tea cup as she spoke. "I want to thank you as I agree with my son that we can leave our past behind in Manchester. We will retain the house for it contains so many memories of my dear husband, but a change would do us both some good."

"Yes," Matthew continued some trepidation apparent in his tone, "My heart is in Manchester but perhaps my head can be useful elsewhere," his tone was boastful for the first time Robert observed. "I've already accepted a position at a law firm, in Ripon."

Robert couldn't hide his shocked reaction. It seemed that his new heir did have the same daring assertiveness as his mother. Other than that, they were remarkably different.

"The Estate," Robert said pushing the conversation forward. "My boy," he added, hoping it would make his demand sound more appealing. "Will require you're every aptitude and necessitate rigorous study as my heir. There is much to learn and no time for making law your hobby."

He watched the way this young man respectfully dipped his head at this opinion and yet continued undeterred to inform him about the law firm Harvel and Carter. Robert blamed Manchester. And yet he couldn't help but enjoy the company of this young man. Isobel's keen gaze caught him forming this positive estimation of her son, and he didn't mind sharing a smile with her. She did indeed have a fine son, and he would have a proper heir, in this first-rate gentleman.

* * *

Almost exactly one month later Robert walked down the grand staircase with Isis on his heels. There was a pronounced spring in the earl's step. His new heir and mother were to arrive this day at long last. He had received a confirmation telegram from Matthew the previous day. Robert was impressed with this thoughtful attention to detail. As he sat and ate his breakfast, he was relieved he had these happy circumstances to consider as the grim details of the Balkan wars dominated his newspaper. Soon enough he was greeted in succession by all three of his daughters. Out of the corner of his eye he watched his eldest daughter Mary until his youngest Sybil spoke. His middle daughter Edith was quiet as was typically her habit. Often she was so quiet he would be surprised she was still at the breakfast table when he looked up from his newspaper.

"Papa," Sybil said eagerly. "Will our new family be joining us for dinner tonight?"

He had to admire her noble heart in accepting people with such little reserve. This question seemed to intrigue both his other daughters, as well.

"Yes," he said as his eyes left his newspaper and he meet her expression of excitement. "And your grandmother will also be joining us so we can all get acquainted."

"I really don't see what the rush is," Mary said returning her teacup to the saucer after she took a delicate sip. "Wouldn't it be more considerate for them to dine with us at a later date?"

"So, you have not changed your mind about riding down to greet them?" Robert asked with disappointment.

"I think your Mama's idea is a splendid one. It is a beautiful day for a ride, and I would appreciate such a welcoming gesture from my eldest daughter," he encouraged.

"I'm afraid not Papa," Mary said. Her tone was speckled with determination. "My horse does that care to be constrained by being told where to ride. She prefers her own direction without interference."

"Very well," Robert conceded his eyes returning to his newspaper. "We won't greet them until tonight." He sighed again in frustration but held his tongue.

* * *

I welcome all reviews, comments, analysis and evaluations! Please don't be shy I love fanfic discussions. As per my tradition of including supplementary visual aids on tumblr - you can find me as wdedalus.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I'm flummoxed by the reaction to this story. Thank you everyone!

My deepest appreciation goes out to R. Grace and Carissa who have both helped me shape this universe.

And now I'm going to take this opportunity to interject a little hint about the format of this saga. There is a necessary slow burn to this second chapter as the plot starts to unravel down what will be a sharply different AU path. In the coming chapters, the focus will be only on Mary or Matthew, and others will fade to the background. However, at this point everything is still in the brick and mortars phase building the foundation for what will come.

And so….on with the show!

* * *

After the reception with his new heir and his mother, Robert started to realize he had his work cut out for him. The innocence on Matthew's face was an obvious giveaway to his inner feelings. And when he spoke further tendrils of ineptness were produced. So, although he wore the finery of distinguished clothing, he did appear to be a trumped up outsider. He represented everything his mother and wife had feared about the inheritance passing to a stranger from Manchester. However, Robert was certain that Matthew would soon see his folly and forgo any further talk of working for a living. Before dinner, Robert decided to escort his new heir on a tour of the house. The paintings of their previous ancestors would be the pivotal point of interest. As they stared at the oil paintings, Matthew asked several questions. Robert was pleased with his interest in the past, and so he wanted to use it to his advantage. They made their way down to the servant's hall, and Robert called all of the staff by their first names. He wanted to instill in Matthew the responsibility for being the master of a great house such. His heir had seen the past, but now he would see the future. Robert had always thought of Downton as his fourth child, but now he had a new, fifth child and he was ever so pleased to at long last have a proper son.

They stood in the servant hall, and Carson presented the two new staff members that had recently joined the household; William, who was from a farm near to the estate, and Beatrice, who was from Manchester. Robert was nonplussed to notice the interest Matthew had in finding another expatriate from his hometown. He watched his heir shake hands with William and then he chatted amiably with Beatrice for several minutes. Matthew then asked Carson several questions, which seemed to please the stately butler, his answers subdued but appreciative. However, whatever kudos he had won, were all lost when he asked if he might be allowed to ring the gong for dinner. Carson was a staunch defender that this was not customary. Robert was very much reminded of Mary's bold inquisitiveness with Matthew's request, and that pleased him deeply.

The normal talk around the dinning room name was subdued. Especially after Matthew's rather annoyed insistence he understood how to serve himself when the footmen offered him guidance. Robert had seen Carson almost cringe at their interactions together. His heir was now displaying an uptight nature he had certainly not shown in London. While his own mother Violet had taken almost instant delight when, a frightfully strong arguments with Isobel began. Neither woman would concede to the other. And so the silence was feeding the room, broken only by the soft sipping of spoons as they ate their soup. But Robert could also see the hint of a smirk still remained on his daughter Mary's face at this evening's turn of events.

"Matthew," Robert said cheerfully, "I wish to show you the full depths of the estate. I can have Lynch sort out a horse for you."

"So, you ride, Mr. Crawley?" Mary said as she reached for her wine. "I would have supposed you loathe country pursuits being from Manchester and not being accustomed to our way of life." Her statement was a challenge.

"Tut, Mary my dear," Violet said, "He can not after all help being from an industrial town."

"It is true I am accustomed to a different way of life," Matthew said raising his voice slightly at the snub. His home he could at least defend, he was not going to let them change his identity. He thought of what his father had always told him, 'What Manchester does today, the rest of the world does tomorrow.' They could sneer at this profession, but he was proud of his home. However, he could see his distant cousin was not impressed, and so Matthew went on to explain.

"For instance, in Heaton Park, there have been performances for everyone to enjoy, everything from opera to theatre. I've often found such wonders, not only while riding a horse but also my bicycle."

The remark, however, did not impress the dinner table and an uncomfortable lull once again ceased the occupants. Lady Mary's smile irked him as she continued to stare at him. He dropped his eyes to the tablecloth as he sipped his wine. A question spun perpetually through his mind. How would Mary feel if she had been forced to move to Manchester, and he insulted Downton Abbey? =====================================================================

As Robert sat with his heir, and they sipped brandy he had to wonder about Matthew's perspective from the unusual dinner conversation. It seems he had underestimated the tension that still clung to the family in the wake of so many changes. However, the mourning bands were gone; it was time to move forward.

"Matthew," he said as he puffed a breath of smoke, the rich flavor deliciously filling his senses.

"I wonder if you might do something for me." He asked diplomatically. Robert proceeded when he saw he had Matthew's full attention. "Although I still wish you would acquiesce to the reality of your new position and resign from Harvel and…" he paused struggling to remember the name of the law firm.

"Carter," Matthew said unflinchingly. His blue eyes sharpened by a request he so obviously did not want to comply with. This steadiness of character would have been something Robert admired under different circumstances. Mary had always possessed and equal pique of fortitude as the one this young man displayed.

"Yes," Robert continued, "Thank you. Well, perhaps now is the best time for you to research the entailment," he flicked the ash from his cigar into an ashtray before taking another long puff. It pleased him to anticipate any future quarrels, and now he had the mechanism to do so sitting across from him at this very table.

"If there were any way to divide the estate, the inheritance and the title; your professional skills would be of some value there. Especially as my mother and Cora would know that you are sacrificing your own inheritance to do so."

Matthew was quiet his hand on his drink. After a moment, he spoke.

"I can easily do what you request," he said with confidence. "However, I think it is also only fair that I tell you once again that I will not give up my profession when I complete this task, whatever the result."

Robert sighed at this frank honesty. It was certainly not the answer he had wished for.

"Do you play chess Matthew?" he asked.

"Yes," the young man said eagerly. Apparently he was relieved at this new diversion in the conversation.

"Well, then," Robert said extinguishing his cigar and finishing his drink. "Let's rejoin the ladies and play a friendly game shall we?"

Matthew smiled and finished his drink. He didn't want to be at war with his new benefactor. And Matthew thought with a smile; his father had taught him many varying methods for outsmarting opponents in that game. His mentor didn't stand a chance. He would no sooner cut off his ability to earn a living as he would kiss Lady Mary. Neither would be happening in his future. As they walked through the corridor, and he saw his cousin again, Matthew thought of the chess game, and how the Queen occupied the most power on the board. It was a fitting analogy for his situation as he knew everyone preferred Mary over him. But in reality a woman such as Mary was a pawn. And for the first time when he stared at her fiery gaze, his found his feelings awaken at her regal beauty. It was as though his spirit was Rip Van Winkle, and now he was awake and alive.

Mary stood in her riding clothes impatiently waiting for Lynch to finish with her horse. With the final preparations completed, she could at last escape the stable. For the next hour or so she would be completely independent. There would be no prying eyes, and no talk about the new heir. Mary wasn't completely sure which had been worse to bear, the support from Carson and the staff or the judgment from her Papa and the family. But either way everyone knew she had lost Downton, seemingly for good. As she galloped through the meadow, Mary felt her cheeks flush with the early morning frost still lingering. It was completely invigorating to escape. And at least she could take comfort in knowing she now had some say in her prospects towards marriage. At breakfast, she had another letter from Evelyn Napier. He was a handsome man and not as terribly dull as Patrick. And if he proposed it would be her choice to accept him.

But, she was growing frustrated with her Mama's insistence for her to be married. Mary sighed. For she knew she was already older, than her mother had been when she wed her father. And, therefore, her mama was pushing any match while her father was pushing none at all. She had always been insignificant to her father, but Patrick's presence had cushioned that blow. Still despite the difference of opinion, the message was the same; her parents were anxious to pass her onto a husband.

For some reason, her family was not pushing Cousin Matthew the same way they had insisted on Patrick. And to be honest this had very much surprised her. With Patrick it had always been, 'understood,' but never spoken of, almost as though the promise was only a whisper in the wind. She might have had a chance of happiness with Patrick. After all, he had always been easy to control or ignore given her mood. He was younger than her and although a selfish bore, they had grown up together. Patrick was really akin to a male Edith. And Mary had always been confident that she could do anything better than either of them. With Patrick, she would have known how to handle him in order to get what she wanted. And her papa would have always preferred her over him. So, while it wouldn't have been a marriage of love it would have its own reward, and that was Downton.

Mary wondered about her Papa and his attachment to the new heir. It was rather preposterous. She wondered if her words about mourning regarding Patrick had upset her father more than she realized. But how could she not be honest with her father? Mary once again felt the sting of having been born a girl which was not what her Papa had ever desired. Diamond's fluid gallop continued and Mary found her thoughts moving at an equally rapid pace. She was apparently not going to be offered a second chance towards gaining Downton through marriage. If her father preferred Matthew, why was there no overture between them suggested? Mary wondered if her Papa now thought she wasn't worthy of such a marriage, or even worse she wasn't worthy of Downton.

Once again she tried to understand why she had said those words to her father about not wanting to mourn Patrick as her fiancé. They may have altered the course of her life. It was true that she was not pained by the loss of Patrick. She did feel as though it was a wonderful escape. After all, granny had often said that no other young person alive could be as conceited as Patrick, his character flaws were legendary. But her granny's words were not under scrutiny the same way hers were. Therefore, her penance for claiming the suffering of others as her victory was the loss of the only future she had ever thought she would have. Mary felt a chill as she continued to ride through the acreage of Downton's meadows; she knew every inch of this land.

There was only one way to face the truth of the pressure she felt, when the time came she would have to accept Evelyn Napier. She must abandon Downton and seek her future elsewhere. Mary wondered why she felt such heartbreak at this prospect. It would be best for her to be independent and let Papa fumble with the new heir. Soon enough he would see his folly. Matthew was a ridiculous lark, a dull innocent solicitor from Manchester, who took advice from his mother. Mary had to admire that although her mother had been raised in a completely different society (and country) she had made the transition to a whole new world gracefully. Cousin Matthew was only from a different city and yet he bungled everything.

At least he was providing some laughs. Mary slowed her horse as they came through some heavy brush. The sounds of the woods this early in the morning were a balm in her spirit. Nothing should be changed about this estate; Papa was right about that much. However, she didn't believe the boy from the industrial city could ever appreciate her birthright. He was merely a novelty for Papa, an apt pupil in the way that Patrick had never been.

With a wicked thought, Mary wondered if she should have some fun with cousin Matthew only to spite her father. If Papa would host the annual shooting party next spring, she could invite Evelyn Napier, and then she could see how both of these men matched up. After all, Anna had told her that with the hiring of a new footman William, and another new maid Beatrice, the staffing was more than adequate. The new heir may resist her father, but Mary was confident in time he could become more pliable with her demands. She could prey on his "kind nature" and with his professional skills perhaps he would want to fight for her as the damsel in distress. She would of course resist but that would surely teach her father and her family a lesson about setting her aside.

* * *

Matthew came down the stairs at Crawley House finishing dressing by himself. He adjusted his cufflinks and pocket watch. It was frustrating to have to cave to the whims of this new aristocratic lifestyle, especially since he firmly believed their house in Manchester was not only more spacious but more comfortable. He disliked having a valet and being coddled by another adult man. He missed seeing his family portraits particularly his father's as he walked to the dinning room. And yet he was reminded of the primary reason he had consented so easy to move, a change of scenery must lift his spirits. Although he was by no means unhappy with his life, it was true a certain melancholy did seem to occupy his thoughts from time to time. Before the hullabaloo about the inheritance, he hadn't measured up to his contemporaries assumptions. He was uncomfortable around women and had little desire to cease being a bachelor. Matthew sighed he didn't know why but he simply did not feel comfortable in his own skin. Shaking off these thoughts; however, he was faced with the prospect of having to meet Cousin Robert on the estate. There would be no pleasurable tasks for him today; Matthew felt his mood turning sour.

When he entered into the dinning room despite the early morning hour his mother was already present. She was pouring tea, and they greeted each other with a smile. However, before he could sit, she was busy fusing over his appearance. Matthew stood patiently as she straightened his tie.

"You don't mind this do you?" Isobel said as she continued to brush the shoulders of his suit.

"No," he responded. Quite honestly it was almost a relief to be allowed to accept his mother's attention when they were in private. She had always been an attentive mother, and he was grateful for the consideration. Although he knew his relations at the abbey thought it strange after all; they were so impersonal with each other.

"Good," Isobel said as she finished her slight alterations. "Matthew, you must learn how to accept the well intentions of others."

"I'm sorry?" Matthew said in confusion. "I miss your meaning mother."

She handed him a cup of tea and prepared a plate for him with all of his favorite foods.

"I'm speaking about Mr. Moseley dear," Isobel said as she ushered him to the table. "What I just did, is simply what he wishes to do. He wants to help you, and he would take pride in that. You must allow a person to have an occupation after all. Wouldn't you agree?"

Matthew smiled as he sipped his tea. He had to concede his mother had a very good point, and it touched a nerve. Perhaps he had been too callous with his newly appointed servant. His instance that the man should surrender as his valet was akin to Robert's bullying him to cease being a solicitor. Mosley was not his enemy, and yet he had taken the brunt of his unhappiness.

"My boy," Isobel said affectionately, with her child a tender approach was often necessary to alter his behavior. "I don't want to add to your troubles, but I just think that picking a fight here and now is unwise."

"Very well mother," he said pledging to try and reform.

"I suppose, but I may never get use to being dressed by another man like a doll," Matthew said as he buttered his toast. "I just don't see why everything has to change so abruptly. I won't be of any use to anyone soon if I'm not allowed first and foremost most to be myself."

Isobel's face light up as she watched her son. He had always lamented over every little decision he made. She had to smile at the memories that surfaced with fond nostalgia. And now he was the heir to a great estate, Reggie would be very proud. It wasn't exactly easy, and he still had plenty to learn, but the hardest part was simply accepting the change. Isobel had always been puzzled about where this nervous disposition had come from in her son. It was so unlike her countenance or that of her husband. And she watched Matthew as he was completely engrossed by his newspaper. He had always taken the word's cares onto his shoulders, and currently he seemed to be emphasizing with the written words he was reading. She sighed as she mused over these circumstances.

At least with Cousin Robert, Isobel was assured of his sincerity in welcoming them into the family. And as a family, it was only normal that there should be an occasional squabble. If she had been able to give her son a sibling, he would be more familiar with this concept. But alas she thought, there was no room for regret. Simply to have him was a miracle. Isobel smiled and winked when she caught Matthew's eye and she was happy to see it lighted his mood somewhat.

* * *

Carson was there to welcome them to Downton Abbey. It had already been one month since Matthew and Isobel's arrival, and a small celebration was to be held. Mary ignored their guests while she switched conversations twice; as her father's discussion about fishing and her middle sister's complaints about clothing were not able to hold her interest. She observed the way Sybil was eagerly listening to Matthew, but instead chose to sit with her grandmother. The mantle clock chimed and yet there was no dinner gong. Just as her mother was about to say something, Carson entered the room. His face was flush red with barely constrained agitation. He requested a word and Robert stepped just outside of the family's earshot.

"For one, night, it is no great matter," her father said having to raise his voice slightly to try and alleviate whatever was troubling the butler.

"Very well," Carson said reluctantly as he exited.

"Robert?" Cora said, "Do pray tell us what calamity is to blame for our late supper."

"We have two heroes' it seems. Thomas and William in an effort to protect Daisy when a small kitchen fire started have minor burns on their hands and can't serve tonight. So, Carson is without footman for dinner."

"I hope their alright," Isobel said, "Has Dr. Clarkson been called?"

"I'm sure Carson has thoughtfully dealt with the situation," Robert said briskly, he changed the subject. "The point of the matter is he will have to use woman in the dinning room. Since its only this one time it must be allowed."

"Did you say," Violet put her right hand up to her chest affronted. "Women in the dinning room?"

"Oh this is a pity," Cora said with agitation. "And when we have guests."

"I'm just glad that no one was seriously injured," Matthew said interjecting a sentiment similar to his mother's.

"Indeed," Isobel said, "That is what is really important. Although it is kind of our hosts to care so much about presentation for the dinner."

"Yes," Matthew said enthusiastically. "We must not let this stifle the sentiment."

"So," Violet said affronted, "That is it? Western Civilization has fallen, and there will be women in the dinning room from now on."

"Mother," Robert said tactfully, "Didn't you once tell me about a masked ball in Paris? There was an outbreak of Cholera and no servants at all to serve."

"Well," she said opening her fan to calm herself with the waves of air. "That was different. It was France anything can happen there."

But before there was any more discussion, the dinner gong was struck. Carson was extremely apologetic as the first course was served with the help of Anna and Beatrice. Although both followed his orders unquestionably, there was a certain amount of unease about their movements. And there were short pauses and gaps between servings that made Violet sigh dramatically. When this would happen Carson would offer additional wine as a substitution for the quality of the serving. It was Mary that spoke first, the usual dinner conversation having become rather stunted.

"What were you discussing earlier with my sister?" Mary said addressing Matthew from across the table.

"We spoke of literature," Matthew said quietly. He turned his head towards Sybil offering her a slight smile.

"So, you are a great reader as well as an avid outdoorsman?" Mary inquired as Anna held the tray of fish steady for her to take her own selection. There was no response at first. She turned her head to see Matthew having to focus his attention on Beatrice who was daydreaming. He cleared his throat as she stood with the sauce. Mary was amused at the look of daggers that Carson had for her at the delay.

"I enjoy reading," Matthew finally said before nodding his thanks at Beatrice and allowing her to move on to Edith. She looked apprehensive at the prospect, her eyes still fixed on Matthew.

"If you've always got your nose in a book and are a connoisseur of literature, let me test your knowledge," Mary said with a challenge. "I wonder if you know the story of John Clayton, Earl of Greystoke," Mary said her velvety voice tingling with barely contained snobbery. "My American cousins recently shared the story with me, and I can see parallels with your situation."

Robert stared at his daughter in confusion. This turn of events was most unexpected and definitely not filled with the charity he had wished she would offer their new guests. If only, she would remain silent as Edith and Sybil were doing.

"If you mean that I'm accustomed to a very different life from this, then that is true," Matthew said his voice equally as bold. "However, Earl of Greystoke, or Tarzan of the jungle, as he is more commonly known, is not someone that I would equate myself with." Robert watched his daughter and his heir lock eyes as they stared at each other.

"Even though Tarzan does occupy two completely different worlds with grace and ease, as an Earl he understands and loves people; but in the jungle he feels a similar compassion about the animals there. He is both adopted and adaptive." Matthew paused after his long rant.

"Over here," Carson hissed under his breath addressing Beatrice who had frozen where she stood. She quickly hung her head and continued about her duties. Anna moved to assist her as she had fallen behind with all the tasks they had to perform that were so unnatural to them.

Mary was taken aback, not only by the incompetence of maids serving them dinner but by Matthew's stunning arrogance. The entire table was so silent even a dropping pin would have been heard.

"Perhaps," Matthew started speaking again; "Your analogy isn't so farfetched," "Thank you Cousin Mary, for bringing it to my attention."

Sybil smiled and brought her napkin to her face to hide the expression, but Isobel did not. Robert turned his stunned gaze around the table his eyes landing on his mother's keen gaze. He watched her chuckle uncomfortably.

"Really Mary, what a story for the dinner table! Let this be the last time you read anything from an American," Violet said in horror. The dishes were cleared and no further conversation that didn't involve mundane topics such as the weather for the duration of the meal.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for chapter three.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks a million to each and every reader, reviewer, tumblr follower etc for the overwhelming support in regards to this story. Hugs for everyone!

As you will see, in this next chapter the story is going further AU. I've removed a major canon obstacle that comes between M&M so that I can insert one of my own making (the original twisted idea R. Grace, and I thought up together!) down the road...

Enjoy!

* * *

As Matthew stood with Robert discussing the land and the tenants, he longed for the opportunity to divert the conversation. He had little to contribute as Robert monopolized the discussion. Matthew still harbored some irrational resentment towards his fate. He had been thrown into circumstances that were beyond his control and that left him feeling extremely uneasy, as though he was taking credit for something he didn't deserve. Especially when Robert's attention could be rather stifling.

However, it would be impossible to deny that the estate did indeed take his breath away, and it was humbling to know it was his future. He could only try and be worthy of such an estate. Each and every time he walked through the village he felt the loss of his amenity, which he had possessed in Manchester. It seemed as though everyone; including the butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker were keeping tabs on his movements. As the new heir, he seemed to cast a wide shadow.

The sun was finally starting to take the morning chill out of the air. The early winter weather was brisk, and Matthew didn't like stopping for to long as they paraded about. Robert's dog Isis lurked by her master also eager for any sign of further movement.

"Matthew, my boy," Robert said offering him a small thermos. "Would you care for a sip of coffee, to warm you?" He offered the vacuum flask from his inner coat pocket.

It was a kind offer, and Matthew accepted it with good will and proficient thanks. He also saw it as the opportunity to change the topic of discussion. As he sipped the warm beverage, he saw his older cousin smile at the scenery. Matthew couldn't help but reciprocate with a similar expression on his face.

"Cousin Robert," he began somewhat nervously, "I wonder if perhaps I could share with you some details I've learned about the exact nature of the entail."

"Yes," Robert said as he watched Isis eagerly chase a squirrel who made a hasty retreat. "What have you learned?"

"Well," Matthew said, he took another sip of the delicious coffee. "The lynch pin for breaking the entailment is the deed of gift when Cora's money was transferred."

"Indeed," Robert said. He gestured for Matthew to keep the thermos.

The smile disappeared from Matthew's face as he contemplated the next revelation he must share.

"I'm very sorry to tell you that in my legal opinion, there is no recourse to challenge the deed; because it was attached to the estate specifically. Therefore, it can not be separated and given to Mary," Matthew sighed bracing himself for the expected attack. He had no way of knowing how Lord Grantham would handle disappointment. In the months since his arrival Matthew had countless times seen the way the world formed around this master, bowing and scraping to both his will and whims.

"Oh my dear chap," Robert said with a smile. "You misunderstood my intentions regarding the research of the entailment."

Matthew couldn't think of anything to say at this strange turn in the conversation, so he continued to sip the coffee.

"Although I still don't approve of your working in Ripon," Robert began, "I do admire your diligent work ethic. So, I wanted your keen intellect to understand how much the estate needs you. Now that you have investigated this as a legal matter you can't deny me that."

It was a strange sour feeling that suddenly overcame Matthew, as though his senses were flooded by the scent of a skunk. He was completely taken by surprise, and it almost made him flinch. Robert's motive for the research, he had simply assumed had been for his daughter's benefit. But it seemed now that it had never been about Mary, and he was very confused. Matthew couldn't imagine a scenario where his father wouldn't have fought for him after all. But perhaps that sentiment was still what made him very middle class. He couldn't stop the comparisons between his life in Manchester, and his new aristocratic existence.

"Even if I haven't disappointed you," Matthew said quietly. "I'm sure to disappoint the rest of the family when I present my findings," he paused as his thoughts lingered on the obvious. "Especially Mary," he finished.

"Not true my boy," Robert said firmly. "Mary understands, but she is letting her stubbornness blind her. After all, my daughter was never my heir in the first place, so she hasn't lost anything with your arrival. This petty resistance has little to do with you, and it's more a squabble about her late fiancé Patrick."

Matthew's mouth fell open, and he tried to recover from that knowledge. Mary had been engaged. He froze thinking about her chilly reception and now attributed it to grief. She had lost her future husband and her birthright. However, these circumstances only added to the festering guilt he felt. I am Downton's only option.

"Oh I see," he finally said.

"Yes," Robert said taking a breath of the fresh air. "It is a kindness to Mary that we do not indulge her attempt to grasp at straws. I've humored the delusion for too long when Patrick was alive; I won't make that mistake again."

Although it was no place to question his cousin about his fathering, Matthew couldn't deny it felt as though a rather harsh lesson was being taught to his unsuspecting daughter. It would seem that he and Mary were joint partners in how both of their lives had altered so significantly. As though a stone had been thrown, and each skip caused new ripples they must adjust to. And yet he believed it was hardly fair, especially for Mary. He couldn't help but think about the differences in the rearing he had received from his parents whom he could always trust implicitly. Whom did Mary have as her champion? Whom did she confide in? Matthew was somber at these thoughts.

"We must focus on the future Matthew," Robert said eloquently. "It's time my daughter let go of this scheme from the past."

"I don't blame her," Matthew found himself saying rather bluntly.

"I'm glad for that," Robert said. "However, she does not need charity. I wanted you to research the entailment so that you would see the legality of this situation since that is what speaks to you."

There was a brief silence between the men, interrupted only by the early morning sounds of the natural environment they currently occupied.

"I'm going to host a hunt next spring," Robert continued. "After the winter holidays, it will give us something to look forward too." Matthew had a hard time accepting that time seemed to be passing so rapidly.

"Then I can introduce you as my heir, and you can meet some fine gentlemen who will be attending, including a young man who is courting Mary," he paused to eye his heir. "I would be very pleased if you would attend."

"I don't hunt," Matthew said rather nervously. He hadn't held a gun since he was a boy; his father had made only one attempt at teaching him. The ricocheting sound of the rifle had disturbed him and so he had learned archery instead.

"But you do ride," Robert countered. "Lynch says you come down to the stables at least once a week."

Matthew nodded; his nerves were being tested. Everything seemed to be a trick; this world was stifling. He loosed the scarf draped across his neck.

"Being the host of a hunting party Matthew," Robert explained, "Means I can claim abatement from parts I may not wish to participate in. The hunt is about ritual tradition and family honor." Seeing that his heir was still not persuaded he continued to hint at his meaning. "I can ask the gamekeeper to give you some pointers. After all as long as a gentleman looks confident with the gun, it never needs to be fired."

Matthew wondered if Cousin Robert was this eloquent when he went to Parliament and if he meddled there too.

* * *

Several days later as Matthew was riding his bicycle through the village after a long but satisfying day in Ripon, he spotted his cousin Mary. He watched her for a moment as she walked down the lane. Mary held her head high with a stately disposition as she went into the telegraph office. There was no such thing as being inconspicuous in the village he had to remind himself. Matthew dismounted from his bicycle and placed it against the wall. He felt it was his duty to escort her now that he had seen her, and so he waited for her to exit the small office. The town was bustling about as people from all walks of life went about their business. He even saw several of the staff from Downton, although only the new maid Beatrice returned his smile and nod.

When Mary reappeared he nodded and tipped his hat for her. She was undoubtedly surprised to see him, but she hid the shock rather well. The subject of the great matter, Mary's involvement in the estate had caused unusually fervent tension at the Abbey dinner he had attended the previous evening. Robert was frustrated that although the matter was crystal clear, his female relations still did not seem to relent. He had even idly muttered that next his sister would be joining their ranks from London. Rosamund, for all he knew, could be the next suffragette. Sybil had beamed with excitement at this prospect. Matthew found himself growing quite fond of the youngest Crawley as she was the only person who would talk to him, without a manipulative agenda.

"So," Mary said the chill in her voice nothing compared to the slight chill of the air. "How are you enjoying this fine winter day, Mr. Crawley?"

"Very well thank you," he answered cordially. "I always feel good after a day spent in Ripon."

Matthew saw her blank expression, a polished look of polite boredom.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, "I know my occupation must be of trivial interest to you."

"No," Mary responded politely, "I don't find your _occupation_ trivial," she said. The bitter emphasis of her words left no room for confusion despite the civil tone. He knew she meant he was what she found truly uninteresting. Matthew struggled to recover their conversation to a more neutral topic, but his mind went blank.

"Papa, insisted when next I saw you that I should thank you again for investigating the entailment," Mary said dutifully.

"I'm sorry it didn't end with a better result," Matthew said, "for you." He timidly smiled in her direction.

"My rights are so insignificant; they don't exist and, therefore, they can't trouble anyone, let alone you cousin Matthew," Mary said holding her posture rigid against the setting sun.

"But it does trouble me," Matthew found himself honestly pleading. "It troubles me a great deal. When I agreed to leave Manchester it was never my intention to cause such a stir amongst our family…" he paused.

"Well then," Mary said diplomatically, "Let your attendance at Papa's hunting party, be my consolation prize. If you agree I shall claim it as a most delightful Christmas gift on your part," she released the tiniest wisp of a smile at the invitation. Mary was delighted to see that she had caught her naive cousin quite off balance with the proposal.

"After all I support Papa's plans for the estate; we must all work together in keeping everything according to our annual traditions."

"That is very generous of you," Matthew said, "supporting your papa when he doesn't support you," he berated himself at his awkward slip of the tongue. "I'm sorry," he quickly apologized for the stupid mistake, "It's been a long day and I'm …"

"Do not trouble yourself cousin," Mary said coolly. She took the opportunity to manipulate his obvious feelings for her own agenda even though his callous slip burned her pride.

"It's easy to be generous to Papa when I never had anything to lose in the first place. Your research made that painfully clear," Mary said calmly. "And so I must press you to consider the hunt once again," she batted her eyelashes at him and tried to contain her smirk at his doe eyed reaction. Really this was going to be far too easy to ensnare dear cousin Matthew. What a fool he would look, an imbecile that did not belong in their lives. Mary smiled again at him with graceful cheer.

"Well," Matthew said swallowing down his reservations. It wouldn't be much penance if it pleased her. And he was surprised at the offer, pleasantly surprised. He smiled, "In the spirit of Christmas I accept. After all, if Tarzan can live in two worlds; I suppose so can I."

Unexpectedly, Mary couldn't contain a genuine smile from showing on her face. She observed the eager way this strange man made the self depreciating joke at his own expense, to please her. And Mary was shaken by the knowledge. Rarely had anyone even done such a small kindness for her recently.

After they had said their casual goodbyes, Mary was still troubled by this kindness. Her feet felt heavy as she made each step back towards her home. Mary felt the word stick in her throat, home. Downton would not always be her home, someday it would belong to her rival, and Matthew would be the lord and master. The conversation she had with her father earlier in the day replayed in her head. In death, Patrick was no more important and significant than he had ever been in life.

_"The only one who never sticks up for me in all this is you. Why is that?"_

She had asked her papa, but he gave no real reply, only a stock answer about being a custodian to Downton, not an owner. It was rubbish, and she had heard it all before. Papa said it was her duty to end the charade and find consolation elsewhere. Mary shook her head as she tried to clear her thoughts. At least she had officially invited Evelyn Napier; her telegraph was now a part of history being sent across the wireless. Mary knew she wasn't happy, but maybe she was about to be. She sighed again, knowing it was for the best, but whose best, she wasn't sure.

* * *

As Matthew reluctantly prepared for the "Saturday to Monday" party, (the word weekend never being used) the first preparation was to visit a tailor. He was saddled between events of recent times that were trying all of his patience. The simple pleasures of Christmas in Manchester were fodder for mockery, by his cousin Lady Mary. And so he spoke no more, not even to her younger sister Sybil about his memories of sweets, homemade decorations and small gifts exchanged with his parents. He did not mention Good King Wenceslas or wassail. Instead, these traditions were only maintained in private with his mother at Crawley House. The stiff formality of Downton, hardly relaxed even for this supposedly celebratory time of the year. And alas, now in the New Year, he must prepare for the next obligation on his social calendar, the dreaded hunt.

In the tailor's shop, he stood impatiently as he was measured. And so piece by piece he was put together. He was fit with tweed clothes, including a wool Norfolk jacket he did have to admit that the style was both impeccable and not completely impractical. The loose garment was belted between the single-breasted box pleats on the front and back. Matthew was sure he had never owned such a fine piece of clothing that would get so very little usage. Despite this impractically he had refused Robert's offer to pay for the new hunting clothes. Matthew could easily afford such trifles. And he had been taught never put purchases on credit; which had surprised the tailor. However, it still stung his pride that his mentor had treated him as though he was a child. Although he knew Robert meant to be generous, it felt more like petty bribery to Matthew.

* * *

The night before the hunt, after a delicious but uneventful dinner the men sat around the dinning room table with brandy and cigars. Robert was engrossed in a conversation with a local neighbor Sir Ernest Wolper that Matthew couldn't hear, but he could see made his mentor occasionally cringe. Matthew was experiencing a greater success with his companion seated to his right. As it turned out he and Evelyn Napier had found plenty to chat amiably about, and currently they were reminiscing about the Doncaster races. Matthew remembered holidays, with his parents when he was a boy; and Evelyn had many similar memories. Matthew was impressed by this man, the son of Lord Branksome. Evelyn had no arrogance about his countenance or any apparent hesitation to treat him as his equal. Their affable conversation was not restricted by the simple fact; that Matthew was the only gentleman at the table that held no title in the peerage.

"Shall I confess something?" Evelyn said casually.

Matthew nodded as he reached for his brandy glass. He appreciated the easy camaraderie that already seemed to have blossom in the short amount of time they had spent together. It made him feel a new sense of vindication to be so accepted by a man of his similar age. Perhaps the hunt would not be the disaster he had feared it would be.

"I love horse races," Evelyn began, his tone an assured pitch of truth unfolding from his words. "That is how I would spend all my time if possible. Occasionally I don't mind riding a horse myself," Evelyn reached for his own brandy, a brief look of annoyance flittering across his stately face. However, the assumption that I, therefore, enjoy an English Hunt continues to plague me. I told my Turkish friend as much, and he stayed in London."

Matthew chuckled with his companion; he appreciated his honesty and the point he made about duty over pleasure it would seem. Yes, he thought, it was safe to say, this man would make Mary a fine husband. He was tame to match Mary's wild streak. Evelyn was a son-in-law that Robert could feel proud of as he brought nobility and money to the understanding.

As they rejoined the ladies, Matthew watched the young couple with keen interest. Mary made it her objective to seek Evelyn's immediate attention. He felt invested in the pairing suddenly, wanting to champion the match so that this new friend could be his regular companion at Downton. However, after a few minutes of polite mannerly chit chat, the mood started to shift.

"Do you play backgammon?" Evelyn asked Mary with a smile.

"No," Mary replied with a stunned expression. For a brief moment she couldn't hide her surprise, but then all too quickly her mask had returned and she was once again unreadable.

"Matthew knows how to play," Evelyn said with jolly cheer in his voice. "You can watch us if you like."

Evelyn beckoned for him. And then he was the one who was stunned at this unexpected invitation. Matthew felt Mary's piercing gaze on him as Evelyn set it up the board game with ease and grace. For the first time, he had to wonder about this man and his intentions towards Mary. Was he courting her or was he simply attending the weekend to be polite? As the game progressed, the distance between the wooing couple was a wide gulf. Matthew was thinking about his strategy while he prepared to roll the dice. It was then that he noticed Mary's sister Edith was snickering. Shortly afterwards when Evelyn lost another point, Mary excused herself. Her attempts to engage him in conversation by mentioning Keats, Byron and Shelley had all been fruitless. Evelyn had with the utmost respect asked for silence while he was trying to concentrate on the game. Matthew felt terrible witnessing her retreat, as though he had once again unwittingly taken what Mary desired to have for herself.

* * *

The next morning the hunt was to commence just after dawn's first light. Matthew was for the first time truly grateful for Moseley's assistance. The man knew just how to maneuver his feet into his riding boots without any discomfort. When he thanked him, he had seen the look of sheer unexpected gratitude on his face at the praise. Matthew believed it was a wonderful start to an auspicious day. He kissed his mother goodbye and walked confidently through the morning's foggy haze towards Downton. When he reached the grounds he met with Bernard who equipped him with another five minute rudimentary riffle lesson. Much to his supreme pleasure he only taught him how to carry the weapon, rather than how to fire it. A gentleman he said can insist on "economy of movement" Bernard told him, "And never fire a bullet because he never takes a foolish shot."

Since he still had Robert's thermos, he had brought it for this morning's activity. He stood patiently on the lawn and drank the brew that Mrs. Bird had made for him at Crawley House. It was shaping up to be a beautiful spring morning. Matthew watched as one by one Mr. Lynch arrived with the horses from the stables. Thomas and William walked amongst the guests offering hot glasses of coffee, which were readily devoured. Beatrice arrived with a carafe of refills and Thomas callously dismissed her. Matthew smiled in her direction feeling uncomfortable having had to witness such a scene. The poor woman did always seem to be causing a stir, but it never seemed to him to be her fault. He sipped from his thermos, grateful he could stay out of this situation at least.

Soon Robert emerged from the house and was pleased not only see to see him, but to notice he was using his gifted thermos. "Such a small token of appreciation," he had said, "And it is not wasted on you my boy," Robert said with relish. "That is good to see."

As he clapped him on the back, Mary had entered onto the lawn. Her elegant steps carried about with a forceful command. She walked over to Lynch for a consultation about her horse Diamond. As she stroked the horse with a tender touch, Matthew had to smile. This was Lady Mary in her element. When he went to the stables to ride, Lynch who had a free tongue had often told him stories about Lord Grantham's eldest daughter.

Soon enough everyone was mounted and ready to go; everyone except Evelyn Napier. He was still chatting with Robert, who was not going on horseback. This delay finally seemed to break the last of Mary's patience. She raised the veil on her hat and asked Lynch if they might set out. The man hesitated not wanting to offend anyone, but he was caught in a delicate situation. Finally, Evelyn surrendered to this pressure and mounted his horse. Matthew took a sigh of relief until this man addressed his female cousin.

"Lady Mary, I've spoken with your father, and I do hope you will ride with due consideration today," Evelyn cautioned her. "A person must always listen to their father after all."

To Matthew the words sounded sweet and kind. However, he saw Mary's posture stiffen on her horse as her hands clutched the reins.

"Shall we proceed _now_?" Mary said her cool voice evenly pitched. She lowered her veil and ignored Evelyn completely, her attention once again to Lynch.

And the hunt was off and running. Matthew could barely hear himself think over all the dogs barking as they had finally been released. Given Mary's disposition Matthew felt he should keep pace with her. She took off with quite a gallop as the leader of their respective party. He had not noticed that Evelyn had fallen so far behind until he heard his yell. Matthew didn't think as he dug his heels into his horse increasing his own pace. He saw the reason for the panic that he had heard in Evelyn's voice. Mary was heading for what looked to be a short cut into the clearing; however, her horse would have to jump some elevated brush and snarled debris.

Matthew was not foolish enough to believe that Mary would need his help. But he was the only person that witnessing her folly; would be close if any assistance became necessary. Matthew sent a quick prayer to his deceased father that Dr. Crawley might be her guardian angel in this tense moment. He made the rash decision to follow her, despite his own apprehension about clearing the brush on his horse. As she rode, he watched her briefly sail through the air without a moment's hesitation. She achieved the goal landing with poise. Matthew gripped his own reigns and followed directly behind her. He braced himself at the rough landing but beamed with a thrilled grin. And then something happened that really and truly surprised Matthew, Mary smiled at him. Her braided hair was disheveled, and her rosy cheeks had a defined sparkle in the morning sunshine. Furthermore, she had acknowledged their shared accomplishment with a friendly nod in his direction. When she took off again along the wooded path, Matthew didn't waste anytime; he followed her. And Mary didn't seem to mind as they rode side by side.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for chapter four. Also please review as I am rather a junkie for feedback.


	4. Chapter 4

The plot thickens! Enjoy!

* * *

Mary was seated at her vanity table. She felt wonderfully rejuvenated after a warm fragrant bath. As Anna started to brush her hair, Mary couldn't help but smile. Her mind was still fixed on events from the hunt. In the mirror, she saw Anna's expression of expectation that she would share what was giving her so much pleasure. But what did she dare say? All she could think about was that moment when Matthew followed her over the jump, she chuckled a little under her breath.

"So," Anna said with a cloyingly sweet smile on her face. "Did Mr. Napier propose as expected?" She asked the forward question pondering what else could put such elation into her mistress's face.

"Oh Evelyn," Mary said dismissively with a cluck of her tongue. "Not yet," she said casually. "When we are married though, it is safe to say we won't be riding horses together ever again."

"Oh my heavens," Anna said. "That sounds serious," she said with tactful regard.

Mary opened her mouth to speak but then paused. Should she dare trust her maid with the inner secrets of her mind? She must take the chance. Mary was bursting with excitement.

"Actually," she began quietly while looking into her jewelry box; to keep her attention sharp and focused. Mary was hopeful her words wouldn't betray her, revealing sentiment.

"It was Mr. Crawley," she said glibly. "He is the one that surprised me," she continued with almost reverence. "And that is not easily done."

"Well, my lady," Anna said as she started to pin up her hair for dinner. "There has been some talk of Mr. Matthew downstairs as well."

"Oh?" Mary said with genuine curiosity. "Do tell me."

Anna gave her a smile of dutiful obligation to the request.

"There is a new maid named Beatrice, she wants to be called Bea. She is also from Manchester, like Mr. Matthew. The coincidence has a lot of the staff gossiping about what it could mean." Anna placed further pins in Mary's hair as she related the news. Her hands quickly accomplished the intricate task with minimal discomfort.

"O'Brien says she buzzes around like a Bee, always fretting about her job. And she wonders what has got her nerves so frazzled. However, I wonder if O'Brien isn't purely jealous. Bea has already been praised by Mrs. Hughes for being a hard worker."

Mary was a little disappointed by Anna's gossip; it wasn't really anything at all. O'Brien was an odious woman; she wouldn't even rescue a puppy from a puddle. Her small mind simply couldn't handle the coincidence of the maid and Matthew both being from Manchester. Mary sighed, when had she, come to think of it, ever learned anything relevant from the downstairs slander? Mary, therefore, applied herself towards the next task, choosing an appropriate dress for a marriage proposal.

* * *

When the men rejoined them after dinner, Mary was relieved. Her mother had told her it was crucial to find a moment alone with Evelyn because he would have something to say to her. Mary was confident that as soon as he proposed and everything was settled this strange fluttering she felt would dissipate. Her vivacious granny gave her spirited advice from Alice in Wonderland, "The time has come to talk of many things," she said jovially. It made Mary smile at the encouragement. She watched as Evelyn stood with Matthew. They seemed to be thick as thieves as they shared a laugh together. When Matthew asked her sister Sybil a question, it was only natural; Mary thought for her to also drift in their direction. As she approached she could hear that whatever they were discussing, Matthew was alone in his opinion. And this had her further intrigued. He was such an odd man, a rube to be sure.

"What are you discussing?" Mary said nonchalantly as she approached. Her eyes unexpectedly locked with Matthew's and for the first time she was caught up in their beauty. It was like looking into the sky, which held so many possibilities. Mary took a shallow breath to regain her composure, any deeper, and she feared it might attract unwanted attention.

"I mentioned a book," Matthew said shyly. "But it seems I'm the only person here who has read it." His cherub like face was unapologetic to his companions; it held a bemused expression. Mary made another mental note not to drink Port after dinner as it only seemed to jar her sensibilities. She could think of no other reason why her father's heir would seem attractive to her.

"And what is this illuminating opus you speak of?" Mary said furthering their conversation.

"The title of the novel is called, 'A Room with a View', it was written a few years ago. And it is not only a masterpiece but my favorite book."

Mary felt her heart beat increase. She kept that very book on her bedside table. But, how could he have known her devotion to that story? It made her feel vulnerable and exposed. Suddenly it seemed a cruel trick. Mary remembered Anna's words about the new maid being from Manchester. Perhaps the staff was right to gossip about her. Because if she was Matthew's spy, it would explain how he knew of her preference in reading material.

"Mary," she heard her name and was shaken from her train of thought. It was Evelyn's voice. And though it was preposterous he was actually scolding her with his tone.

"Matthew's waiting for your answer. And I must say I'm curious too. Have you read this novel?"

But, before she could speak, her little sister did. She tattled on her the way even the best of sisters couldn't help but betray a confidence.

"Isn't that the novel you keep on your bedside?" Sybil said with a triumphant smile of having remembered such a detail at such a crucial moment. Her dear sister, Mary thought concealing her grimace; she was still such a child.

"Yes," she said acknowledging her, but she said nothing more. And yet she saw the smile on Matthew's face; it dripped with barely contained honeyed expressions of admiration. He practically had stars in his heavenly blue eyes. And so Mary looked away. She wanted desperately to roust Evelyn away for their private chat. However, he would not budge, and she could find no way to spell out her meaning. As her father approached, she hoped he would be of assistance to her.

"Evelyn," he said in greeting, "I've arranged for your suggestion tomorrow morning before you leave. A game of lawn skittles will be a wonderful reprieve from another day of hunting."

The young man dutifully smiled. "Well," he said, "I can't accept all the credit for the suggestion. It was actually Matthew's idea; I only brought it to your attention since I believed it such a capital notion."

Robert beamed with pride at this new knowledge.

"Did you hear that girls?" He said with affection to his daughters standing beside him. He shook his head fondly. When he looked at Matthew, his expression only grew more warm and admirable.

"You are without fault my dear boy," he said loudly. "Yes, indeed Matthew, _you_ are without fault."

Mary felt the words sting as her father continued to praise his heir. Everyone smiled and nodded at his words about Matthew. She felt her mother's harsh eyes on her too. She had failed to please either of her parents it seemed. And so quickly with an excuse about a headache she excused herself. Mary grabbed the hem of her skirt as she skipped up the stairs, mortified of falling in her distress.

Only when she was in her bedroom, and her eyes cast on her favorite novel at her bedside, did Mary weep. Mathew had taken everything from her. He had invaded every aspect of her life, shredding it to tattered pieces. It was intangibly unfair. Mary was so lost in her thoughts she didn't notice her mother having entered the room. If she had been aware of her senses, she would have tried to counsel her away. She would have barred the door, but she had no strength left it seemed.

"Oh my dear," Cora said sympathetically. "I know Evelyn leaves in the morning, but you shouldn't put yourself into such a tizzy."

Mary cried harder at these words but not for their meaning. She wept because her mother had misconstrued her sadness. It was a cruel irony that only Matthew could relate to her. He was the snake in the Garden of Eden, always tempting her.

"My dear girl," Cora said sitting down on her bed next to her. "Evelyn may still propose tomorrow morning, after all he wanted to discontinue the hunt. That means he has an agenda."

"Mama," Mary wailed her sentiments, the words leaking out along with her tears.

"Evelyn doesn't concern me. Papa does"… She paused. "What have I done to offend him? Ever since Patrick died…"

And then Mary felt a sudden understanding. Yes, she thought. Patrick. He was no rival for her father's affection. _My rival_, she thought once again toughening her heart and firming her resolve; that is all Matthew will be.

"Do you want to know something that might make you feel better," her mother propositioned.

Mary could only nod as she tried to control her emotions.

"Matthew," she said his name with utter distain, "may smile and smile, but I contend he is a villain underneath," Cora said with cagey excitement.

"O'Brien tells me, she is certain he is. She says the new maid Bea, has a story to tell. And soon enough she will fold and tell it." Her mother patted her shoulder fondly.

And yet the words of counsel Mary had given herself earlier returned to her. Downstairs gossip was always irrelevant and trivial.

"Did you know," her mother continued, "that the new maid is from Manchester? That must mean something. Especially since she keeps asking questions about Matthew."

Mary continued to dry her eyes, and she did feel some renewal of cheer. But, it wasn't from anything her mother had said. No, try as she might she felt joy when she remembered that moment with Matthew on the hunt. Why was it so persistently comforting to her? The feeling of sailing through the air and then realizing that she wasn't alone anymore that someone could keep pace with her. Matthew couldn't possibly be a villain. Could he?

* * *

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Cheers!


	5. Chapter 5

Welcome... I hope you enjoy this next chapter!

* * *

Mary stood under her parasol in the warm spring sunshine watching the game of lawn skittles. She idly moved under the shelter of a tree as the morning shadows danced along the grass. Everyone seemed to be having a jolly time. Mary watched her mother and sisters as they sat with her grandmother. She had been instructed not to join them. Mary needed to be available because of Evelyn's expected proposal.

However, what they didn't know was that she had already spoken with Evelyn. Mary marveled at the clarity that thankfully had been present as she had listened to this mundane reasons for a union between their families. He had no loving proclamations or obvious overtures; it was a practical duty for a man to marry, he had said. And he flattered her with the small token of saying she was exceptionally pretty and, therefore, would make the obligation a lifelong happiness. Mary had known in that moment that although her granny called marriage an escape, it was not the course of action she wished to pursue. And to Evelyn's credit he was not offended or dejected. It was a particular success between them he had reassured her, that they could be so honest with each other; and not cave to social expectations and demands. They parted friends, and Mary was for the first time happy to be in his company.

The cheers from the game draw her attention, and she watched her rejected fiancée aim a well-placed shot. Everything he did was graceful, predictable and rather boring. The wood ball glided from his hands and smashed into the neatly arranged skittles, more than half of the nine wooden pegs tumbling down onto the manicured lawn. Mary clapped her gloved hands in a delicate tap of her palms. The game was nearly finished. Evelyn and their neighbor Sir Ernest Wolper where competing against her father and Matthew. And Evelyn had the final shot. If he could knock down the remaining pins, his team would have the highest score and win the match

Mary watched the expressions on the men's faces at this friendly competition. And she was surprised that Matthew was most expressive of them all. He bemused her. Evelyn took his final shot and won the game with little effort. However, it was Matthew's smile that seemed to be the broadest as they shook hands. This was only a further testament to the confusion that he produced in her. How could he be so pleased at being denied victory? There was absolutely nothing villainous about Matthew, but there was something intriguing. However, before she could ponder further thoughts, the freshly clipped grass tickled her nose, making it twitch almost uncomfortably. She sneezed several times in a quick succession.

"God bless you," Matthew said as he approached her, offering his handkerchief.

Mary was a little shocked that he was the gentleman that had approached her first. She watched Evelyn conversing with her father and felt miffed although she didn't know why.

"Thank you," she replied to her father's heir although she would not accept his offering. There was a discomfited silence between them. However, the awkwardness only increased as Evelyn joined their gathering.

"I'm afraid I must say my goodbyes now," Evelyn said as he approached. "If I can catch the next train I will be able to watch the last day of the races at Dorchester," he said with enthusiasm. He extended his hand towards Matthew.

"Goodbye chap," he said to Matthew, "Meeting you has been the greatest thing that came out of the invitation," he said openly. Mary raised her eyebrows at his candor, her pride a little hurt at such a statement.

Matthew took the offered hand, but his stunned expression betrayed his thoughts. Mary enjoyed having a rival that was so easy to read.

"Well," Matthew said, "It was a pleasure to meet you, as well. I hope our paths may cross again in the future," he said struggling to find something to say.

"Lord Grantham has been most kind to promise he will invite me for future occasions," Evelyn responded, "But now I must dash off to meet my father at the racetrack. Please excuse my rudeness but," he paused, and there was a twinkle in his eyes, "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Evelyn smiled at Mary and tipped his hat in her direction in a gesture of sincere gratitude rather than affection as he hastily trotted away.

"Mary," Edith said as her female relations gathered around her. The eager eyes of her sisters, mother and grandmother all staring at her. She felt a sudden unwanted feeling of regret flood her. Now she had no escape, no future. Had she been wise to reject Evelyn?

"What did he say to you?" Her sister pried.

"Why don't we ladies take some refreshment inside?" Cora said hoping to pull her precious daughters away from the curiosity of Matthew's expression. Reluctantly Mary allowed her family to seize her as they retreated, knowing full well she would disappoint them with her news.

Mary sat in the library feeling the intense gaze of the eight eyes of her four companions. Her mother and grandmother were expectant; Edith was jealous, and Sybil was curious. All of their expressions were about to change, but they would still unite against her. She berated herself as she sipped her tea. Briefly she considered fibbing to allow herself a reprieve. Evelyn had offered her an apple and she'd not taken the bite. Mary had a new perspective on the story of Adam and Eve. She wondered about whom the snake was in this analogy, and Matthew kept coming to mind. In the Garden of Eden, he would be Tarzan swinging through the jungle, oblivious to the problems all around him. Lost in her thoughts she couldn't contain this mischievous thought to quirk her lips slightly into a very minimal smirk.

"Oh dear, it gives me bounteous joy to see you so enraptured, so happy," Cora said with a loving gaze. She reached to pat her affectionately on the knee.

Violet, however, cleared her throat, her brow raised suspiciously at her grand daughter's current demeanor.

"Will you share with us your news?" Violet said, "I hate Greek drama, everything always happening off stage."

Mary relished her grandma's comment a she returned her tea up to its saucer. She looked at the eager expressions on the faces of her mother and sisters. Perhaps granny would understand, for she had omitted the word, happy from her question about her news.

* * *

Isobel welcomed her son home earlier than she had expected. He paced around the room while they waited for Moseley, to fetch another teacup, so he could also partake in the afternoon tea.

"So?" Isobel prompted her son. "Did you enjoy yourself this morning?"

She watched as his face illuminated in a way she had been seeing more and more recently. However, then his expression faded away. Isobel was well aware of the fact that presumably Lady Mary was now engaged; whatever had been happening between her son and Lord Grantham's eldest daughter was now evidently ending before it had even begun. And she couldn't say in part that she wasn't relieved. Perhaps it was a trifle selfish, but Isobel didn't know if she had quite the stomach for her only child to make a match with the high and mighty Lady Mary.

"The thing is," Matthew muttered, "I don't think Mr. Napier proposed," his eyebrows raised at the odd behavior. "I just can't understand it; he was such a fine fellow. And Mary is…" he blushed and sipped his tea, the sentence was unfinished.

"Well," Isobel said in surprise. "I didn't expect that news," she said honestly. And then she wondered if she should broach a new topic; it needed to be discussed, but it was a delicate matter.

Matthew was silent as he chewed on a piece of a cake. Isobel returned her tea cup to the saucer and made her decision.

"I have a question for you my dear boy," she said watching him. He turned his attention to her, obviously relieved that she didn't request further details about the events at the Abbey.

"Yes," he said politely to his mother.

"There is some gossip going around at the Abbey that I think you should be aware of. I wouldn't want it to catch you off guard. Cora has tried her best to rattle me with it, but I wouldn't give her the satisfaction," Isobel said proudly at her accomplishment.

"I feel sorry for her at times too."

Matthew's brow rose in alarm. His mother must have been rattled by Cora as charity was her last recourse. "What is it?"

"Did you ever know Beatrice Phillips when we lived in Manchester?"

Matthew thought about the odd question. "No," he replied quickly but with sound assurance in the confidence of his answer. "The first time we met was when Cousin Robert introduced her to me."

Isobel shook her head almost bemused at the idle gossip; she was curious how the story had become so misconstrued. She worried not only for her child but for the maid; people can be cruel to anyone if they harbor false information and make assumptions.

"What is this about?" Matthew asked, his solicitor's frame of mind now engaged.

"Well," Isobel responded, "I believe it is purely smug condescension that allows everyone upstairs or down to snub us," she reached to pick her tea cup up again but paused. "In some ways I admire Cora for asking a lot of questions about you, she is tenacious; where as Robert and his mother are so broken to the wheel they never question anything."

"The extent of my relationship with Beatrice is waving to her if our paths cross in the village," Matthew said frankly. However, then a fiendish idea entered his mind. "Are they saying I've done something with this woman?" He practically growled.

The look on his mother's face told him enough. Matthew jumped to his feet, outraged. He paced in front of the fireplace. It boiled his blood that others cast their judgments on him based only on trivial information. He was a solicitor who worked on research and facts. Matthew wondered if Mary had heard the gossip and worse if she believed it. Isobel stood and walked towards him as he stared at the framed family portraits on their fireplace mantel.

"Oh my dear," she said calmly, "Nothing of that nature, yet," Isobel said placing a hand on his arm. "But I did think you should be made aware of it, none the less."

Matthew sighed. He thought about all the speculation he had made regarding Napier and Mary. His problems wouldn't have been solved by Napier marrying Mary. But at least there would have been another young chap around, one who possibly could have taken some of the interest away from him. But what right did he have to infer so much into their relationship? Perhaps he was no better than those interested in the coincidence of the new maid being from Manchester and her arrival following his own. The fact remained that he was duty bound to be the heir and suffer through these indignities because of his new place in society. Matthew didn't like the notion of being regular fodder for the inhabitants of Downton, upstairs or downstairs. But at least he had a fierce ally in his mother. He kissed her in thanks and departed upstairs.

In his study, Matthew sat at his desk. However, even the sanctity of this comfortable room with his most treasured positions would allow for no peace. Especially when he couldn't cease thinking of Lady Mary; a woman who had read all of his favorite books, could play a divinely challenging game of chess and ride a horse as though she was Athena. And who was he? A nobody solicitor from Manchester easily dismissed by false assumptions. He sighed with gloomy melancholy overtaking him. But, then he found a deep reserve of confidence revive him. "_No_," he thought firmly to himself, I won't let them change me. Matthew stood and pulled his favorite book from the shelf. He like George Emerson in A Room with a View was enamored with a woman and did not understand the meaning of his life. Matthew read the inscription his father had written for him on this final Christmas present before his death.

_"Trust in love and faith my boy; this is my advice, and it has always served me well. It is how I found your mother and how you came to be."_

* * *

Thoughts? Feelings? Questions? Predictions? Share anything if you wish. I love to chat.

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	6. Chapter 6

Hello and welcome to another chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

The spring weather of the hunt eventually gave way to summer. And in that change of the season, Mary had mulled over a great variety of thoughts. She kept up her guard waiting for any sign of Matthew's villainy, but none had shown. However, her mother's bound determination to have her married was a constant vexation. It was intolerably old fashioned in a way she could not acquiesce to. Her mama treated the task as though it was a business transaction and her only hope for the future; while her father was quiet whenever the subject was raised. Granny's resolve was firm that the family's time in London would somehow solve this dispute. Mary was not sure how this could be possible, but was grateful for the change of subject. Sybil and Edith's excitement started to distract her mother's aggressive push towards any and all of their dinner guests. She had met over half a dozen completely intolerable suitors and not a one was her equal; they were all madly inconsequential.

The only man she spent any time with that was not repugnant was her father's heir. Although Mary willed herself to feel nothing for him, to numb herself, it was all in vain. She did not have the stomach to hate the man. Chasing after her on the hunt, displaying witty knowledge of books and being terrible at lawn skittles, it was nauseating that he brought her comfort. It made her weak and she despised that flaw. How could she rework her feelings? As he stood eagerly before her, she smiled at Matthew with an idea. Whatever else happened, Matthew was of interest to her. She watched him nervously pace underneath the magnificent tree where she was sitting. He had interrupted her solitude when she wished to be left alone to enjoy her book. Matthew said he was waiting for her father; they were to tour the cottages together. The delay would, therefore, not be too long, and he could not invite himself to stay. Mary was so curious about him. It had been puzzling her lately, why had he had looked into the entail. It made no sense that he should want to do it of his own accord. There had to be another motive.

She briefly thought of the gossip that still swirled around Matthew. Anna had told her that O'Brien now claimed she had definitive proof of his wicked nature. During the interlude when the staff changes their uniforms, in an unguarded moment; with her door wide open she had been clutching an old tattered piece of paper that she kept with a bundle of letters. In the small space, O'Brien claimed she had seen that the return name on the envelope was _Crawley_. The incident Ms. O'Brien had seen rekindled speculation regarding the connection been Beatrice and Mr. Matthew. Mary thought it tiresome that her mother reaffirmed these suspicions whenever her father was not in range to hear the slander. However, Mary thought it clear that the only thing sinister about this gossip was simply its source. O'Brien could never be trusted. Mary's shrewd eyes once again observed his manner, the pleasant smile on his face commingled with his uneasy grasp on his hat; his fingers nervously grasping the material. Matthew was so much of a mystery to her. But, she could work around that fact.

"May I ask you a question?" Mary asked. She batted her eyes.

"Of course," Matthew replied. He milled around the bench. Mary watched his actions wondering why he didn't take the initiative to sit down. His goodness aggravated her.

"Why did you pursue the entailment research for my father?"

Matthew took the necessary steps forward and sat. She had to wait for his answer, but she didn't mind, it was interesting to observe him. He reminded her of a coy fish swimming in a pond.

"My father always told me to go in the direction of what I was afraid of." He paused as he collected his thoughts. "And because it troubled me, I researched it; trying to remove myself from the equation and think of it was I would from a solicitor's perspective," Matthew turned his head and they made eye contact. Mary couldn't help dwelling on his wording in the past tense.

"I'm still trying to acclimate myself I'm afraid," Matthew continued. There was a pause before he spoke again. His words were clearly articulated and yet his voice was soft and cautious. "Have you ever tried to look up a word in a dictionary when you can't spell it?" He asked suddenly and without waiting for a reply he continued. "You need more information to understand what you are looking for and what you will find," Matthew glanced in her direction before his gaze returned to the landscapers working on the lawns maintenance. She nodded for him to continue.

"Nothing is more aggravating. If I could spell it, I wouldn't need to look it up. The whole process is counterintuitive. And from the misspelling assumptions can be made about me. Misrepresenting who I am," Matthew bit his lip.

And Mary felt better than his demeanor had become more bashful, it was what she preferred. She took in a deep breath she saw her strategy form in her head, as though it was a line of ballerinas dancing. Fears about being a disappointment, she had known that particular strain since she was in the nursery and girls her nanny had told her meant nothing. Mary had felt a zealous rage at the statement. She remembered contemplating running away from home to teach her family a lesson. While her father was away, serving his country in Africa her cousin Patrick had arrived. Mary knew she must have met him before, presumably many times; and yet this was the meeting that made her understand her nannies prophecy.

And now in this moment, she felt her blood boil with animosity as it was this middle class solicitor that sparked something deep within her. Mary had her proof; girls obviously had no decent common sense. He was the tempest around her emotions. And you can't fight a storm; you must ride it out. She allowed her smile to widen around her face, it was easy, and it felt natural.

"To make amends," Matthew said quietly. "Perhaps we could discuss your book?" He pointed to the novel in her lap. Mary felt her fingers caress the spine unconsciously; he had caught her off guard once again. "As you know, I have a high opinion of "A Room with a View," Matthew continued. "What are your impressions about the characters?" he asked with enthusiasm.

Mary couldn't remember the last time she had been asked to give an opinion on something that wasn't completely trivial. He was a suitable conversationalist, a smart and eager puppy that she could keep on a leash. Matthew looked at his pocket watch; he seemed defeated at her silence. Mary thought of the novel and its conclusions. Before she could speak again, however; she saw her father approaching. If only Matthew knew, that she saw this moment as the beginning. She had no time for speech; all she could offer him was a smile.

"Would you like to come with me while I tour the cottages with your father?" Matthew offered unexpectedly. "Or aren't we friends enough for such an invitation?"

Mary lowered her face feeling the rush of sentiments she barely understood. Matthew would be to her that of a young Carson; he would do her bidding. That was an arrangement she could endure after all. She stood gracefully, and their eyes met.

"I accept," she said charitably. Her father was approaching with a look of curiosity about their conversation on his face.

"Papa," she said in greeting, "Matthew has offered me the most spirited invitation that I join you," she said with a cheery expression. She took great delight in watching the confusion translate into polite resignation on her father's face. It was an added pleasure to steal her father's father toy.

There was mostly silence between the three of them as they walked the grounds towards the tenant cottages. The summer breeze was marvelously pleasurable as they moved about. Mary realized she hadn't been this direction in years. And she took the opportunity to point out apple trees that she remembered picking from as a younger girl. When riding a horse it had been especially easy to trot to this location for a treat that both she and her stallion could enjoy. Matthew was a good listener, who asked no questions and posed no objection to her dominating the conversation.

As they crossed over a small creek, Matthew offered his arm for assistance, and she did not release it for the rest of the walk. She enjoyed the feeling of being an alchemist. Matthew chatted amiably about constructing a small bridge over the creek, unless it was preferable to leave it as it was. Mary battered her eyes at him pleased at his conduct. However, her father's wide eye look of affection stung. He did not look at her with happiness but rather at the noble and kind thoughts that Matthew expressed.

However, this much she didn't mind. And assumption of an understanding between herself and Matthew would give her freedom for the time being. It was her best option. He would not be like Patrick and want to control her. That much she was certain of, and there need not be love in a marriage. Mary had applied logic to her situation. The obvious conclusion of why Evelyn had failed was he did not hold the lock and key to Downton, which was what she really wanted. And Evelyn was also pitifully dull, just as all the suitors that had followed. But, Matthew could give her the birthright she wanted while being an unobtrusive sometime companion. She could please her father and defy her mother. And she would show that she honored ancestry and traditions; while pleasing herself and obtaining the freedom she so desperately craved. Matthew was her ticket, and it was a simple solution. Perhaps granny was right that the London season would be her salvation.

Mary stood calmly listening to her father's apprehension about the brevity of Matthew's suggestions regarding the renovations. The calculated cost certainly seemed to trouble him. She stood between the two men watching them shoot charged glances at each other.

"And investment," Matthew said, "In the land is the only practical solution. Husbandry shouldn't be dictated by the past, just because barley has always been grown is irrelevant. How well does it grow? This should be the pertinent question Can the tenants afford to keep planting or should they break from tradition?"

"I had no idea you were suddenly an expert on Northern crops," Robert said with condescension.

"I'm not," Matthew said cautiously. "I'm not speaking about my personal experience, only from a historical application," He watched the diligent painters adding the final coat on the cottage doors for a moment as he collected his thoughts. "In Manchester during my maternal grandfather's life he spoke about the change the city underwent when it was industrialized. It broke from the traditional cycle. Any change requires that first brave act into the unknown."

Mary was rather stunned by his insight. It seemed to imply Noblesse oblige, a liberal point of view. The nonconformist solicitor Lloyd George himself would be proud she thought wickedly. Matthew was not willing to surrender his inferior middle class point of view. However, this rebellion was useful to her; it was relatable towards her own situation. And it meant he had given her an easy opening for them to unite.

"I agree," Mary said confidently. "While traditions are priority, we must face them with an open mind."

"Really Mary," Robert said scolding, "I wish you wouldn't talk like that. What kind of example are you setting for Matthew about our way of life? There will come a day when you can't take back every flippant remark after all."

Mary stared with cold eyes at her father. As much as she loved him, and desperately wanted to regain the idyll he had once been to her, the hurt outweighed everything else. He was responsible for this desperate declaration aligning herself with Matthew, and yet he was oblivious. "That day can't come soon enough for me," she said her eyes roaming over to observe Matthew. He remained quiet although there was a spark in his eyes.

"Well my boy," Robert said diverting the conversation. "This is not a debate that we can solve over one conversation, all though it is food for thought. I hope that your passion, however, misguided does mean that you see Downton as your future."

"I promise you," Matthew said stoically, "I am trying my best to honor what is at stake for everyone. And so yes, I'm willing to change and to adapt."

She remembered granny's poignant advice to her when she was still a child; _there is what you know and what you feel, always discount the later. _Mary saw his candid answer as an olive branch, although he was priggish; he had possibilities. She knew she had to marry, so any feelings about her groom did not matter. And in this logic Matthew was the perfect solution. She had made her final decision. _I will dictate my own life_; Mary thought to herself.

As they proceeded to walk back towards the Abbey, the afternoon sun setting, Mary stumbled unexpectedly as her shoes were really not meant for long walks. However, Matthew caught her and their arms linked together again.

"I've got you," he said with reassurance. And Mary found she was not offended by this sentiment. For she thought, it was exactly the opposite from her point of view.

* * *

So, what do you think of Mary's plan? Do you think it will work?

Please feel free to review here on ffnet and you can also find me on tumblr as wdedalus.

:)

Stay tuned for the next chapter, where the promised big twist is at last revealed! *winks*


	7. Chapter 7

The family was seated around the dinner table with Sir Anthony Strallen as their guest. Mary laughed at the man's uncouth declaration and shared a smile with Matthew. She was wonderfully thankful for the moment as it provided her aid in her quest to ensnare her father's heir. The sooner the task was complete the better. Mary had made herself the promise that she would neither apologize nor explain herself to her future husband.

Mary relished the challenge her sister Edith put forward. However, she would need to tweak it to fit her particular agenda. She had no desire to pretend Strallen was worth her time. The new challenge, therefore, was about how quickly she could induce a proposal; a fortnight was the agreed upon time frame. A smile coy smile spread across Mary's face. What Edith didn't know was that it wasn't purely sport, she intended to accept Matthew. When she had made her father's heir her husband, she pondered all the freedom and liberty that would soon be within her grasp.

When the gentleman entered the room, Mary paid all her attention towards Matthew. She brought him over towards a book on farm machinery since he was so keen to learn about practices at Downton. Matthew smiled that timid disarming way of his and admitted he was more interested in Greek Mythology than husbandry; but that he would try to understand if it would please her. Mary wondered if Helen of Troy had felt this surge of intoxicating power, the notion of how far a man would promise to go for her. However, she had no desire to be remembered as having a face that launched a thousand ships. Mary's aspirations were of a more simple nature; she wanted Downton.

And so they stood together slightly away from the rest of the family and chatted amiably. Matthew sipped his brandy, and his tongue seemed to loosen with each drink. He was frightfully easy for her to read. Mary enjoyed watching the reaction of her parents as she spent her time with Matthew. She knew there was a part of her mother that disapproved since the gossip regarding the maid had never ceased. However, since it was only a frightful nuisance, _hen pecks of assumed knowledge_, her granny said; Mary had given it no consideration regarding her course of action. As the clock struck, she realized she had lost track of time. When Matthew said goodnight she could see her father's obvious approval. It had been a long time since she had seen since a smile on her dear papa's face. _And I put it there_ she thought smugly. Mary returned her attention to their most important guest. She allowed him to take her hand as the fireplace cracked behind them.

"We have talked of the Greeks all night," Matthew said with relish, "And so I leave you with this parting thought from Sophocles which I share, "_I ask to be no other man than that I am_."

Mary felt a sudden unexpected flutter of butterflies in her stomach at his candid words; he was so assured of himself it astounded her.

"Lady Mary," he said to address her again. "The two words: _summer afternoon_, are the most beautiful in the English language, so said Henry James. I wonder if you might join me on one soon before you go to London."

The blush she felt was a wonderful victory as she caught Edith's expression out of the corner of her eyes. Although she was also surprised, she would have to convince Matthew that his presence in London would be necessary. That would be her next task.

"The day after tomorrow," Mary offered with restrained enthusiasm, "Lynch will be able to make the necessary arrangements as the farrier is coming for Diamond's horseshoes."

"Until then," Matthew said graciously with a bow as he was walked out with her father. She saw them shake hands, and she winked at her sister with a twinkle in her eye.

* * *

When Matthew returned to Crawley House, there was a joyful bounce in his step. He could hardly believe it was happening, but it seemed Lady Mary was partial to his company. Although he had not sought her attention, he did find her company a rather strong intoxicant to his senses. It was undoubtedly the work of fate and would be a marvelous blessing should their relationship elevate to perhaps a different circumstance; for he would never settle for a marriage that wasn't based on love. And if they did come to such an agreement with this condition fulfilled, he would also be relieved of the guilt he still harbored about having stolen Mary's inheritance. She had a clever mind, and she knew the land. They could be partners. Matthew allowed Moseley to remove his coat and hat, and he felt almost like whistling he was so jolly. His thoughts were so clouded by this daydream that he almost collided with his mother at the bottom of the staircase.

"Matthew," she greeted him fondly, but there was a sad reservation about her countenance. He felt goose bumps appear on his skin. Matthew reached out for her, touching her shoulder gently.

"Mother," he said quietly, "What is the matter?" He had not felt this kind of alarm since she had broken the news about his father's death.

"Come into the drawing room," she finally said softly as she walked away.

Matthew looked at the carpet that was beneath his feet. It was well furnished, but the subdued colors offered precious little vibrancy. All of the euphoria from his pleasant night vanished. He had wanted Crawley House to be their home in Manchester; the familiar walls to have the modern wallpaper and oriental rugs that he had grown up around, that had sheltered him. But this was not his home, it was not a sanctuary. And furthermore bad news could find a person anywhere. With a deep breath, he followed behind his mother taking the few steps forward that were required. When he entered the drawing room, he gasped at the vision that greeted him. Next to the fireplace was the oil painting of his father. The new frame around the portrait was marvelous craftsmanship, worth the wait and the expense.

"Your father's portrait arrived today," Isobel said sitting down on the settee. She patted the space next to her. "I thought it appropriate for him to be present for what I have to tell you."

Matthew didn't move. It was a cruel injustice that his father's portrait did not bring him the comfort it once had. In this moment; it was only a cruel reminder of what he had lost. And as he watched his mother her hands nervously clenching a handkerchief he feared he was going to hear that soon he would lose another parent. That must be his dear mother's dreadful news, for he couldn't imagine anything else that would upset her to such a degree.

"Matthew," she said tenderly and gestured for him to sit once again. All thought except the pang of loss fled before him. In this private room, he swiftly moved towards her.

"I'll support you mother," he said his voice barely a rasp as he fought for his composure. "You should see a doctor in London; I won't let you go without a fight," he said urgently, frantically.

Isobel almost smiled at his words as she blinked back tears.

"What a heart you have my boy, and what an imagination," she declared with a sad chuckle.

Matthew's pained expression was puzzled as he took her hand.

"I have a difficult story to explain. So, please don't interrupt," Isobel squeezed their joined hands. "It is nothing like what you fear," she continued. Matthew swallowed a hallow breath at her words and sighed. The pain of the truth strung her as though it was an allergic reaction. Isobel stared into his blue eyes and admired the way his golden hair fell across his face.

_I am not responsible for those attributes._

Said the voice in the back of Isobel's pain stricken head, but her heart rallied her spirits as she watched his countenance. His steady attention and devotion, those I can take credit for she thought proudly.

_He is still mine, even if he is not._

"I'm listening, mother," Matthew said quietly.

Isobel took a shaky breath at his last word of address. It had always brought her cheer, even now, even with what she knew, and what she must share. She looked at her husband's portrait for guidance and then turned her attention back to their son.

"I've grown tired of hearing about this maid at Downton," Isobel felt the words she had tried to master so carefully, simply falling out of her mouth. With great effort, she tried to measure her pace. "Beatrice was walking by Crawley House earlier today, and I thought it was a perfect opportunity. I'd never want to presume at Downton and cause a scene and embarrass or frighten the poor woman," Isobel squeezed Matthew's hand for reassurance that he was listening, and he nodded.

"Well, we had a little talk," she paused, "And I learned something I have to tell you. There is no doubt, I am convinced, and I know it to be true." Isobel stared into the pleading face of her son, his sad eyes and confused anguish. It was time to share the revelation. The consequence and evidence could follow. Now was the right time, better than any other she would get.

"Matthew," she said, "Remember when you received Robert's letter? You said he wanted to change our lives," Isobel knew how much he had hated that unwanted responsibility and alteration to his very existence, and how he much he was still adjusting to it.

"Yes," he said cautiously, his lip bit between his teeth.

"Well, my dear boy, I have to tell you something that will have a similar effect…" Isobel had not practiced how she would tell him. How could she with such a delicate matter? But, she knew she wanted to reveal it as though she was applying a tourniquet to a wound, the information would create. The implications were staggering, and yet for her part the news had changed nothing, even when the shock had sent a thousand and one emotions through her, they quickly petered away. She had no regrets.

"Did I ever tell you that when I was expecting I was sure I was carrying a baby girl?"

Matthew made no effect to speak, but slowly he shook his head affirming a negative answer.

"Your father never teased me about that certainly after we had you," Isobel paused she knew the bittersweet reason for this now. _Oh, my dear Reggie_, she thought to herself. _What have you done_?

"Mother?" Matthew whispered anxiously interrupting her. "What are you trying to tell me?"

"Just listen," she issued the reprimand as gently as possible before she continued. "I was in labor all night. By morning, I was quite frantic that we couldn't lose another baby, and your father was beside himself as well. We wept, and we prayed together. I was given ether and your father performed a c-section." Isobel looked at her son but saw no reaction to her words as he stared at the floor. "I remember waking up in the hospital, and he was holding you," She wiped at the stray tear that escaped down her face. "It was such a wonderful moment my dearest. He was holding you so tenderly and just reciting poetry he knew by heart. He loved you before I did; I want you to remember that."

Matthew was motionless and silent. With a tender touch, Isobel traced the outline of his chin hoping to raise his face so that he would look her in the eyes. She stared lovingly at him before continuing. "Well, your father delivered two babies that morning. One baby lived, and the other baby died," Isobel took a hasty breath to renew her speech. "Your father switched the birth certificates because it was the best solution for everyone."

Isobel squeezed Matthew's hand that had gone cold at the sudden revelation. His face was blank, and he had shed no tears. Her heart was bursting to reassure him that in everything that mattered, he was still her child; he was still everything to her. He was just what his name said he was Matthew; a gift from god.

"Say something my sweet boy," she cajoled him soothingly, her hand not grasping his found a nervous path into his golden hair, and yet he was still as she stroked.

Finally, he spoke.

"_I ask to be no other man than that I am_," Matthew said repeating his quote from earlier in the night, his voice a contemptuous blast of self-condemnation. "What a fool I have been."

* * *

Thanks for reading! The big twist of this story is now revealed. The cat is out of the bag! Stay tuned for the next chapter!

Also I want to thank R. Grace (again!) for we came up with this original story idea together. Everything else was constructed from this notion that was just revealed... including the title.

So, penny for your thoughts?


	8. Chapter 8

Thanks to everyone reading, following and reviewing this saga!

And now we continue with the revelation that occurred in the last chapter...

* * *

"_Enough_!" Isobel yelled. She put her hand up to her brow in exasperation. Matthew's angry self-condemning babbling ceased almost instantly at her abrupt disturbance. She knew that Moseley was aware of their late night chat and that he could be waiting outside the door, expecting her son to need him to change from his formal attire. At least he seemed a devoted servant whom she hoped would not form any suspicions about this late night chat. Isobel sighed and then lowered her voice. She stepped towards the fireplace mantel where Matthew stood his quivering hand lightly tracing the fine frame of her husband's portrait.

"I feel I should say goodbye to him again. As though we are strangers since he was not actually my father."

Isobel felt helpless and alone with this secret exposed. It was a terrible truth that her husband had lied to her, concealing Matthew's true paternity. And yet she did understand his motivation, it had been to protect her. Isobel stared at her wedding ring. Despite time passing, she would never stop wearing it. However, when she thought back to her younger self who had been determined to have a child, or die trying. She realized she was the cause for Matthew's distress, even though it was her husband who had perpetuated this concealment, without her knowledge. She remembered the arguments they had, where he pleaded with her to be sensible, to accept that they couldn't have their own children. And yet she wasn't afraid of the risks; she persevered despite his warnings and objections. Isobel had only seen one outcome, and that was her dream of starting a family. Reggie had made this come true, with deception. She had forced him into such actions. Isobel stared at her husband in the portrait. For her part, she was not mad at him, even now with this gut wrenching news. Instead, she felt guilty when she saw the anguish on their son's face; it was almost unbearable to witness. She was caught between her husband's actions and her son's distress.

Matthew's gaze was fixed on several precious photos they had brought from Manchester. Isobel touched his blond hair sweeping it off his forehead, repeating the action from when they had been sitting together moments ago. She didn't have to wonder any longer where it had come from. His golden hair belonged to Beatrice. Matthew bit his lip but didn't look at her, his opinion of the situation they found themselves in obviously burning a hole right through him. It would take time to come to terms with this truth, but for now she had to speak her peace. The life she had yesterday was the same one she wanted today and tomorrow.

"_Who am I_?" Isobel said gently directly questioning her beloved child. "I know that is what you are thinking."

She fought for her composure; as a mirage of long forgotten emotions crowded her sentiments. Marriage to Reginald had been bliss until they couldn't start a family. And she looked back on her memories now with fresh understanding. She thought of the little garden with forget-me-nots and rosemary for remembrance that she and Reginald had tended at their home in Manchester. The flowers covered hidden truths, the unmarked graves for the babies they had buried. The heartbreaking loss was a consistent pattern; their hope was practically extinguished. Isobel swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. And then there was a miracle. They were blessed. She held a strong and healthy baby in her arms. Lavender was planted in the garden, symbolizing devotion, luck and peacefulness.

After they had a child, everything changed. They could finally move forward. And so it didn't matter to her now to learn that Matthew was not born of her body, for she had raised him as if he had been. Reggie had lied, and it hurt, but she would still defend him. She couldn't answer for him, but she could speak from her heart.

"Matthew," she said warmly as her words were entrenched with rich sentiments of unbreakable love.

"You're the same baby I nursed within a few minutes of your birth. The same affectionate little boy I rocked to sleep in my arms. You are my little boy that always wanted to build, create and share."

Since he wouldn't look at her, she looked at the photo of her family when Matthew was four years old. His sweet and angelic smile was politely staring for the portrait.

"Do you remember how you found a toad in the garden one morning, and you were upset when he didn't want to eat the cherry tomato you offered him? Sharing your favorite garden treat did not appeal to Mr. Toad as you called him… " Although he didn't respond she saw a tiny glimmer of amusement hidden behind the mask of confusion he wore.

"Papa read you _Wind in the Willows_, every night after that because that Mr. Toad you understood. I can still hear your laughter when Papa used voices for all the animals in the story."

Isobel saw that tender memory affected him; she knew she was finally getting through. And so she continued to push.

"Matthew," she persisted. "You're the person that worked to assemble his first bicycle refusing any assistance. And although you were covered in grease, by the end of the day you rode that bicycle through Heaton Park. You didn't give up."

Isobel moved her finger from the smaller child Matthew to the older photo version, the last one that had his father in the family portrait.

"You're the man that kissed me goodbye as you left for your studies at university." Isobel paused, "And my darling boy who came back five minutes later for another embrace. You're the same person you've always been."

Isobel started crying, unable to hold back her emotions any longer.

"Matthew," and this time he turned to her. "You're the person that Reginald Crawley and I poured all of our hopes and dreams into…"

His blue eyes so sensitive as they clouded over with tears to match her own. She could see all the memories from her recollections alive in his expression. Though his origin had changed, his identity remained the same.

"You're my son," she said simply as the tears ran down her face.

And although he was a grown independent man he embraced her in a desperate way. It was a clinging touch that she hadn't felt since Reggie's death. The symbolism of these two different moments made her clutch him fiercely, reverently in their mutual embrace. One pitiful word strangled out of Matthew's lips, and it reaffirmed her resolve.

"_Mother_."

* * *

Matthew stepped out of the drawing room but didn't see Moseley. Isobel went into the kitchen to make a pot of tea as Mrs. Bird had already gone to bed. Matthew walked up the steps to his dressing room. After a short conversation where he discharged Moseley for the evening, he made his way back to the drawing room. He sat on the settee in his disheveled evening wear holding his unraveled tie, his mind still in a murky haze. This was the second life changing event that had left him powerless, and its correlation with the first was a vicious irony now. He was to inherit an Earldom because he was the next male heir. However, he was no blood relation to Robert Crawley since he was a bastard. He shoved his tie in his pocket and ran his trembling hands over his face. Before his mind could spin anymore, he heard the rattling of a tea tray and saw his mother entering the room. He sprang to his feet to assist her, but she refused his help and ushered him back to his seat. Soon a cup of tea flavor to his individual preference was in his hands.

"Tell me more about your conversation with…" his mouth froze, and he couldn't go any further. Was he to say, the maid, Beatrice or my mother? None of those felt right crossing his lips. All he could think about was the woman's name and its connection to Dante's Inferno. Beatrice was the angelic guide who represented love and hope. It seemed another cruel irony to bestow on him.

Isobel sipped her own tea and nodded thinking back to her chat earlier in the afternoon. Without the gossip swirling around Beatrice, perhaps this secret would never have been exposed. It was certainly more complicated that anyone at Downton would ever presume. Isobel took a deep breath as she began what the woman had explained to her.

"Beatrice Philips was once a maid in the employment of Jonah Alastair Attlee, a judge in Manchester." He was unhappily married and had no children when he seduced her into an elicit affair." Isobel took another sip of her tea. "When her condition became apparent, she was sent to his widowed sister. She could not be blamed or create a scandal for having a maid in the family way in her household because she was blind." Isobel paused giving Matthew a moment to think about these circumstances.

"His sister was a kind woman who preferred to send Beatrice to the hospital rather than call a doctor when her time came." Isobel sighed and placed her hand gently on Matthew's knee.

"Jonah intended to take the child, but Beatrice couldn't bare this idea as she loathed his wife. She described her as a cruel and vindictive woman. But, she knew she couldn't keep the child, so she had to frame her mind to this solution."

Isobel set her tea on the side table. She gazed sympathetically at her son admiring the way Matthew was stoically holding himself together; she could now see it was similar to Beatrice's countenance. When faced with this truth exposed, Beatrice had not flinched. Isobel thought this very admirable.

She began again. "It was quite obvious to me when we talked that Beatrice had never known any kind of unconditional love. And I couldn't imagine what that must be like, having had first your father and then you in my life." A tentative trembling hand landed on top of hers and Matthew looked at her briefly before his eyes went to the floor again.

"Well," Isobel said refocusing the story. "When you were delivered, you were healthy and strong. Dr. Crawley asked her who the father was, and she wept out of fear and desperation. Beatrice asked him what she should do as she cried, and he had an unorthodox suggestion."

At that moment, Matthew dropped his empty teacup, but it didn't shatter on impact as expected. He anxiously picked it up and stowed it safety on the table. Isobel continued with the story as it had been relayed to her.

"Beatrice said it was at that moment that Dr. Crawley explained his personal desperation. Our baby girl had been stillborn despite the attempt to save it with the c-section. Dr. Crawley proposed switching the babies when he made the birth certificates. She could then tell Jonah the baby girl had died, and Dr. Crawley would raise her son as his own flesh and blood."

A small bittersweet smile crept on to Isobel's face. "She said he was a great man for coming up with such a solution." Isobel took a deep cleansing breath, "Beatrice said his actions were, 'kindness thrice bestowed. In one, action, he was able to save her baby, save her future, and he also saved his wife.' And so she had gladly consented to this agreement and handed her child over into his care."

Isobel found her eyes wandering over to the oil painting of her husband. She thought of the moment Reggie had placed the swaddled baby in her arms.

"Beatrice was right, it did save me. Her words were the complete and utter truth. Reggie had always taken charge of difficult situations and been my guiding light."

Isobel saw how her words affected Matthew; his head slightly bobbing to confirm as he related to her statement about his father's character.

"Beatrice is a very observant person despite her having been ill-treated, and underappreciated her whole life," Isobel concluded. She picked up the bible on the side table and extracted an envelope, delicately unfolding a piece of paper on the hospital's official stationary.

"This is your birth certificate," she said passing the document towards him. "After Beatrice had told me all this, I compared it to the copy she had in her possession. They were nearly identical, and both were in your father's handwriting."

Matthew took the paper with trepidation his eyes scanning the simple recorded information. It had been easy for a respected doctor to rubber stamp this identity swap.

"Except," Isobel continued, and Matthew looked up from the paper, their eyes briefly meeting. "Her copy of your birth certificate had a private memo at the bottom. It was your father's favorite quote from the bible."

The words instantly came to his mind, so fresh in his memory despite the passing of years since his death. For the first time, he forgave Dr. Crawley and Matthew silently thanked the man that had chosen to be his papa.

"Matthew 6:19-21, for where your treasure is, there your heart will be also," he said without delay.

"Exactly," Isobel said dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. "You are our treasure. And Dr. Crawley wanted Beatrice to always remember that."

Matthew stared at the birth certificate. The ramifications were overwhelming. And his mind was flooded with questions. His life was a Pandora's Box like problem. He had the mechanism now to escape a future he had never sought nor wanted, Downton. He would have to reveal the truth about his past.

"I know you feel different," Isobel said soothingly. "But you aren't any different."

"It's wrong to conceal this truth from anyone," he said hesitantly. "It is illegal in the eyes of the law after all I know, I'm a solicitor." He bit back a bitter laugh when adding, "And the illegitimate son of a judge."

"Matthew," Isobel said bracing herself. "No, I must disagree. You are the son of Reginald Crawley, who was the third cousin of Lord Grantham. There is no deception in that fact."

"I'm merely his ward, a bastard he raised as his son," he said countering her statement. "And therefore, I can not inherit property. In fact, being illegitimate I now have fewer rights than female children," he cleared his throat and licked his lips nervously.

"Which means Downton Abbey should go to Mary."

"Darling, I wish I could agree with you. But, this is the world we live in, the real world, and you are living in a gothic romance novel. There is no legal recourse for what should be. You know that outcome isn't really possible because of the entail," Isobel said glancing at the mantel clock with tired eyes. "This truth is for you alone to know, I couldn't conceal it from you. Once I learned it, I shared it. However, I am determined you should not say anything about this matter to anyone. For me at least," she pleaded all of a sudden.

"You are my child," she said fiercely. "That is what matters."

Matthew was a little stunned by the sharpness of her tone. Her warm eyes so threaten by his vocalizations. Two questions pinged off each other in his mind. Without her steady guidance and devotion where would he be? And then quickly the juxtaposition balancing his dilemma. Could his conscience allow him to perpetuate such a deception?

"Thank you for telling me," he said pensively.

He stood and continued about his nighttime routine, although he was sure he would not sleep tonight.

"Goodnight Mother," he said ending their exhausting discussion with a peck on her cheek. Isobel's arms went around him swiftly, and they embraced as naturally as they would have the day before.

"Goodnight Matthew," she said releasing him. He had already taken a few steps when he heard her whisper, "My son.

* * *

A/N: To quote canon Matthew: "_What a marathon_."

Thanks for reading!

So, what do you think ...

Will Matthew be able to ignore what he just learned about his paternity?

How does this change his future with Mary?

Do you think he will be packing his bags for Manchester soon?

Share any and all thoughts if you wish! I am ever so curious.


	9. Chapter 9

"Fate has terrible power. You cannot escape it by wealth or war. No fort will keep it out, no ships outrun it."

-Sophocles

* * *

As Carson divested Matthew of his hat, gloves and coat, he felt as though he was being stripped bare. The clothes an invisible layer of protection guarding the secret that shrouded his identity. It was the moment of truth. And as he stood in Downton he couldn't shake the look on his mother's face as he had left that morning. She didn't try to stop him, although he knew she was against his telling Robert.

"_I only want the best for you," Isobel had told him her tone nostalgic. "But, when you've made your mind up Matthew," Isobel had concluded her tone nostalgic, "You've always followed through," she paused before adding, "You're just like your father in that way." _

She wouldn't let him forget how fierce her love was, and it made him feel slightly guilty that he still felt he needed to unburden himself to Robert. He swallowed nervously, but Carson's face was expressionless making no comment about his obvious apprehension.

"Mr. Crawley, Lord Grantham is in the library," he said stating the fact briskly.

"Indeed," Matthew said quietly. "Thank you."

"Sir," he addressed him as they parted. But, then Matthew saw emotion flicker across the older man's face before it was suppressed.

Lady Mary was approaching. She was dressed for riding and the form fitting clothes beautifully highlighted her majestic stance. She stood in rays of light that made her appeal almost saintly to him.

"Mr. Crawley," she said smoothly.

Matthew felt as though he would need the Rosetta stone to decode the actual cadence of her tone of voice. Was she acting or was she glad they had met? His nervousness seemed to multiply as his insecurity about his humble origins penetrated throughout him. It was no wonder he had always felt insignificant around her, the daughter of an Earl while he was a rescued bastard. He thought of how she had called him Tarzan and how fittingly appropriate that seemed now.

"You are a day early for our ride! But, I won't let you tempt me against my better judgment. I must hold firm to our chosen agreement," Mary's smile curled around her face.

"I…" He paused his thoughts a flutter, the sleep deprivation he feared was making him even more inarticulate.

"This innocent routine will not fluster me," Mary continued. "Very well, we shall meet tomorrow an hour earlier than planned, but that is my final word on the matter."

"Lady Mary," Matthew said feeling Carson's indirect stare accusatory, "I've come to see your father on urgent business."

"Carry on," Mary said dictating his path, "Until tomorrow."

"Good day," he said shuffling away towards the library. He turned back to watch her confident strides, believing it was very possible it was the last time he would ever see her.

Matthew tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He felt no different than he had the day before; expect for the surety that the aristocratic world would penalize him for this discovery. And so his thoughts returned to Mary. He had no choice regarding the circumstances of his birth, any more than she did.

His palms were sweaty as he followed Carson and he feared for the handshake he would offer Robert. It would be the handshake of a quivering peasant. However, Lord Grantham's hands were occupied with a ledger book as he entered.

"Matthew, my boy," he said with affection and yet the words burned as though they were a branding iron, and he was merely a piece of livestock.

"To what do I owe this visit?" Robert eagerly forgot about the calculations he had been attempting and pushed away the ledger. Carson shut the door, and Matthew exhaled a nervous breath. Robert capped his pen and closed his book.

"Care for a brandy my boy? You look as though you've seen a ghost. Is there trouble at Crawley house?"

Robert gestured for Matthew to sit. However, once seated he felt as though he was a child about to confess his naughty behavior and receive a scolding. Matthew accepted the drink and had just taken a sip when there was a knock at the door.

Carson entered again abruptly.

"Beg your pardon my lord, but we have a minor crisis of staff," he said tactfully.

Carson gestured for Mrs. Hughes to fully enter the room, and she motioned for someone else. Matthew watched in disbelief as Beatrice Philips followed reluctantly. He took another sip of his drink unable to look away, knowing what he had learned last night. They eyes met and he realized she had been watching him unobserved since he had arrived. And yet that thought didn't feel like a violation, in fact, it made him understand the unease he felt at Downton. It wasn't because he was out of place perhaps; it was because he had always been watched by her keen eyes. He couldn't help thinking about why she had come to Downton.

"Yes," Robert said, "What is it that is so urgent?" He inquired with some annoyance. Carson looked to Mrs. Hughes who looked to Beatrice.

"You can speak in front of Mr. Crawley he wouldn't mind this discussion, it's good for him," Robert said sipping his own brandy.

"Go on now," Mrs. Hughes prompted Beatrice, "Tell him."

Matthew braced himself, expecting she had come for the same reason he had. Was it possible that their thoughts were connected? She is my birth mother; he thought profoundly. And his eyes took in her appearance almost as though he had never seen her before. She was of average height and just slightly stocky for a middle aged woman, who still had the appearance of youth. But, her face was very much like his own as she had wide perceptive blue eyes and golden hair. It was an obvious resemblance, and he felt as though he was living in the short story, the tell tale heart. He was sure Mary would know that story, and the thought unexpectedly gave him comfort, Mary who knew of American writers and teased him.

"Lord Grantham," Beatrice said calmly. "I've told Mrs. Hughes I must tender my resignation."

Matthew felt his jaw drop at her words, and he quickly brought his tumbler to his lips for another sip. He had not expected that conclusion.

"I see," Robert said vaguely. "And what is the problem?" He looked at Mrs. Hughes and sternly at Carson.

Mrs. Hughes spoke, "I'm afraid she is being bullied to resign, and I don't want to lose her. She is an excellent worker and an asset to the house."

"Is this true?" Robert said stepping towards Beatrice. "Do you wish to leave because you are uncomfortable here?"

"No, sir," she addressed him directly, looking him in her eyes although she had her hands clenched nervously on each side of her apron. "Mrs. Hughes is very kind, but my sister has been unwell in Manchester, and I would like to resign to be able to assist her."

"Well, then," Robert said diplomatically, "There you have it, Mrs. Hughes, she has cause to leave and that should put your mind to rest. You can depart with our blessing. No doubt you will receive a favorable letter of recommendation."

"Thank you sir," she said her head bowed.

Carson took charge that their exit was quick and promised there would be no further disturbance.

Matthew stared at the amber colored liquor in his glass. He did not watch her exit. She was leaving. He felt a confusing sort of panic in his chest press against him. They might both be back in Manchester soon it seemed.

"Matthew," Robert said with amusement.

"I'm sorry," he quickly apologized realizing he had been caught in an obvious daydream.

"I know that was frightfully dull," Robert continued with vague annoyance. "Cora is supposed to handle these sorts of affairs, but for some reason they still land on my lap."

Matthew was grateful for the brandy hoping it would loosen his tongue. Robert sat down on the settee across from him.

"Mary is frightfully good at handling this sort of situation, and her passion for Downton gives her another advantage," he said enthusiastically. "I was very happy to learn that you will be taking a ride with her tomorrow," Robert said with a happy chuckle. "Very happy indeed."

"Now," he said leaning back and crossing his legs. "What was your mission today? Everyone seems to have one today after all."

"I think," Matthew said, the words fighting against him still so jumbled in his mind. "That the entail should be examined again."

"Poppycock!" Robert said loudly. "My boy what is this nonsense?" But, before Matthew could continue, his mentor continued. "You and Mary simply need to get married and then you can work out the rest." Robert stood and walked to deposit his glass back on the table. "And I would then gain a fine man as my son and heir."

"Downton should not be my birthright," Matthew said. He stood and walked to place his glass adjacent to Robert's glass.

"My dear chap," he said, but Matthew interrupted him.

"We are of no blood relation," he said quietly. "I've been told that the man who delivered me at the hospital, Dr. Reginald Crawley, your third cousin was not my father."

Robert's jaw fell open. "What?"

Matthew looked out the window at the manicured lawns and away from Robert's dazed expression.

"You must explain this," Robert said suddenly his confusion bordering on panic. And a strange sense of clarity overcame Matthew. He had always planned to detail everything for Robert and yet now he decided to hold back. Beatrice was leaving; there was no need to involve her.

"There is no proof," Matthew hedged, "Except…" and then he was interrupted.

"This is the gossip that Mrs. Hughes spoke of," Robert said with agitation. "And I'm sick of it."

He stepped towards him closing the small distance. Robert put his hand on his shoulder.

"Matthew, I see no reason to fight for a maid, but I will fight for you. I will not have a scandal," he said firmly.

"I must think of Downton first and foremost. My cousin James and his wild boy Patrick sailed far too close to the sun for my liking. They were Icarus and Dedalus," Robert's grip squeezed his shoulder.

"But, you are different. You would even make this confession if you thought it would help." Robert smiled. "I admire that. However, my mother's spies investigated you, your mother and your father exhaustingly. Whatever the truth maybe, it doesn't matter."

"But," Matthew said as his eyebrows rose at Robert's denial. He had not expected to be welcome after his shamefully low birth was exposed.

"Matthew," Lord Grantham said sternly exhibiting ever bit of his most crafted dignity of appearance. When he spoke it was as though he was addressing the House of Lords on legislation he expected to pass through Parliament without dithering.

"_This will not be discussed any further. You are my heir, and that is all there is too it."_

The first time he had been sheltered and take in by a man, not his father, Matthew had of course been unaware. However, in this moment he wondered about Robert's motives with his cunning twinkle in his eyes. Was he hinting that he had suspected this outcome and overcome it? No, that couldn't be. And yet marriage to Mary would solve the blood relation conundrum after all. Lord Grantham was making him his ward and yet Matthew wondered if this was how Faust felt when he made his deal with the devil. He bit his lip as he pondered this circumstance, he was trapped, and there was no escape. When Robert extended his hand, Matthew reluctantly shook it in a silent pact that sealed his fate.

* * *

As Matthew walked back towards Crawley House, he counted each and every step. So, far he was at one hundred eleven. Matthew kicked the pebbles on the road. Each step was exhausting, and his mind started to wonder. Last night he had occupied himself with reading Sophocles since he could not sleep. "_And on my head I feel the heavy weight of crushing fate,_" he said under his breath. Perhaps he should get the quotation tattooed on his body; it felt so much a part of him now. He could barely comprehend the discussion he had with Robert.

_I will be an Earl someday_, he thought grimly. _I will be married to Lady Mary_, he thought in bewilderment. These completely separate matters were now interwoven as tightly wrapped as a bandage on a wound. It was the only solution to the problem that he had confessed about his origins. Matthew tried to shake away this train of thought, and resume counting his steps. However, at one hundred twenty-seven he was forced to give up. His mind would not stay occupied with so simple a task. It could only focus on Greek tragedy and how it seemed to mirror his new revelation. "_What people believe prevails over the truth_." He shuddered at the words of warning once spoken by Sophocles.

Matthew resented the way Robert cared more for the future of Downton than anything else. His words stung in his memory. He spoke eloquently but, his passion could only be awoken by the ownership of an estate. Matthew did not understand. Robert was proud he said to groom the next generation's custodians. He was presumptuous enough to comment on marriage to his daughter, as though it was already a finished conclusion. Robert used the example of his own union with Cora where love had blossomed over time. But, to Matthew it seemed unfair and ludicrous. And furthermore Robert's conduct was in stark contrast to that of Dr. Reginald Crawley's original efforts. Matthew tore off his hat and nervously scratched at his head. He walked off the path and into a sheltered clearing. It was childish, but he fought back tears when he thought of everything Dr. Crawley had given him, with equanimity.

_"Oh, Papa_," he thought in his misery. Matthew sat under the branches of an old oak tree and tried to imagine what advice his papa would advocate to him in his current dilemma.

Last night he had thought that learning the truth would change him, and it had, however, not in the ways Matthew had expected. All he could think of was the happiness of growing up in Manchester that idyllic youth seemed almost a dream now. In his present situation, he had lost all control, and gradually he had been losing his independence. Matthew thought of how in his youth there had never been any pressure on him to follow into medicine; there was no dutiful exertion to honor his father in this way.

No, he thought with clarity, Reginald Crawley had allowed him to make his choices, his own future, and to be his own man.

Lord Grantham was very different from his third cousin. And Matthew belonged to his dominion now. He also had another fear. That once he was married, Robert would next insist he resignation from his occupation as a solicitor. The thought of losing his position at Harvell and Carter was a bleak reality. Perhaps it was unfair but, he feared Robert would blackmail him now. And that was only the tip of the iceberg. The deepest burden he now possessed was that he was forbidden to tell Mary about his origin by Robert's strictest orders.

Matthew plucked some grass and placed it between his hands; he used it to make a whistle, a trick his father had taught him. The sound pierced through the air, only ceasing as he had to bite back another sob. He tried to tell himself not to grieve over the past or the future. It was impossibly difficult. Then as he saw a bluebird soaring through the sky, it reminded him of Lady Mary. Her riding costume had exhibited shades of that very blue. What a sight she would be tomorrow against the epic clouds that strode across the sky, so like an image from romantic poetry. She retained her guile and grace despite the harsh truths that were a cage around her life. Oh how he admired her. He had to give her Downton; it was the right thing to do. And yet never could he share with her his true origins, their life together would be based on a lie. He would never tell anyone ever again. On his honor, Robert had made him vow.

The lump returned to his throat. Isobel, his mother had been right. He regretted telling Robert. And his thoughts also cycled next to Beatrice, his birth mother. She was leaving. He wondered if when she had spoken to Isobel yesterday if she had known her time at Downton would be concluded by the confession. And yet she had proceeded forward, speaking openly and honestly about the past. He admired her. Matthew wondered too about the other details of her life. His existence had come to be because she had faced reality so starkly. She had confessed everything to her doctor, reaching out, taking any chance possible, so he could have a better life. Matthew could easily picture the look on his father's face at such a moment. His father had always been a beacon of stability in his life; he mended all of his toys and dried all of his tears. He had taught, instructed and believed in him. Matthew took a deep breath at this thought. Suddenly, he was startled by voices along the walkway, and he pulled himself up. Matthew dusted off his clothes and resumed his path back to Crawley house.

* * *

"It's just the family tonight at dinner so I shall wear my pearls," Mary instructed Anna as she finished dressing.

She looked in the mirror as she sat at her vanity. The horseback ride today had given her face a little glow from the warm summer sunshine. She applied some power to hide the effects from her conservation parents. Anna finished with her hair and handed her the necklace. Mary stood eagerly ready to make her early departure before dinner. She wished to ask her father about his meeting with Mr. Crawley without her sisters or mother present.

Mary walked briskly towards her father's dressing room. And her timing was as usual practically perfect. Mr. Bates was limping along the corridor towards the room; it would be an easy task to arrive before he could. Mary knocked on the door, and at her papa's steady greeting of acknowledgement she entered without further due. He looked puzzled at her entrance into his private domain, but he didn't scold her. Mary smiled at this; he was undoubtedly in a good mood.

"Papa," she said her tone honeyed with cheer, "You must relieve my mind this instant," she said with pressing urgency. "Tell me quickly about Mr. Crawley's visit."

Mary watched as his mouth peaked into a grin. She could already see the benefits of her plan coming to fruition. And she would undoubtedly soon have the satisfaction of proving her point to Edith. Her father could hide his emotions no better than Matthew.

"All I will say my darling daughter," Robert said with enthusiasm, "Is that the future is certain and to trust it."

Mary wanted to roll her eyes at her father's riddle. She tried a different tactic.

"What did Mr. Crawley say to you?" Surely his words would be a giveaway; the man wore his heart on his sleeve to such obvious proportions.

"Mary," he said tentatively, "You will see him tomorrow," he said with a fond smile. "I've given my permission for you to ride with him."

"What did he say to you?" She repeated her question.

Robert sighed and resigned himself to answering her.

"We spoke mainly of the future of Downton," he said calmly.

The knock on the door startled her, but she was satisfied, what her papa had offered was enough of an answer for Mary.

* * *

The next morning Matthew walked back to Downton carrying a picnic basket lunch. He thought it a nice touch to offer Mary such treats. Honestly he was not at all interested in horseback pursuits given his current troubled mindset; the last forty-eight hours still held him captive. The picnic basket had been his mother's thoughtful suggestion.

"_You and I have not changed," Isobel had said to him fondly. "And we never will." _Matthew had kissed her cheek, unable to speak but so profoundly grateful for her unconditional support. At least he had one certainty in his future that he could depend on.

Although he knew his mother had serious reservations about this endeavor, she was resolved to still try and assist him. Matthew knew that neither she nor his father would have wanted him in such a bind as this, practically an arranged marriage. And he cursed the fact that he was a bachelor. In Manchester, he had the chance to have pursued his own bride, to meet and marry whomever he wanted, to fall in love naturally. To have a life akin to his parents, that was his dearest wish. It was why he had waited, hoping love would find him. But, he had been a fool. And now the best scenario was a charade, he and Mary were two trapped people pretending they didn't mind their gilded cage.

Matthew approached the stables trying not to turn his nose up at the different smells that assault him. He was after all a city boy at heart. And he wondered if he would ever see Manchester again. Riding anywhere but Heaton Park did not feel natural to him. His mind retreated to the Greeks again for solace since he certainly did not feel like Peruses saddling up heroically to ride Pegasus.

"That basket must be heavy to hold," Mary said upon seeing him. She stood next to Mr. Lynch as he saddled her horse. "Because, you are completely absorbed in the task."

Matthew took consolation in her astute presence. She was absolutely in charge of the situation without moving a muscle or uttering any further words. He could offer no response to her statement, and it seemed she didn't need one. Matthew observed how Mr. Lynch followed her unspoken orders and did the same. As she mounted her horse, his mind was suddenly filled with poetry when he watched her, especially Shakespeare's sonnets. Matthew blamed his shaken countenance and lack of sleep for his idiotic and sentimental thoughts.

Soon they were riding together, and not a single word had passed between them. Matthew lost all sense of time. Only when he started to tire of the uncomfortable position in the saddle did he realize how long they must have been galloping side by side. Mary controlled their journey, and when she slowed down and then dismounted he did, as well. She tied her horse to an apple tree and reached to pick the fruit. Without delay, she offered it to the animal and patted him lovingly. Oh how he wished to be that horse, he thought idly. But he looked away and busied himself with spreading a blanket on the ground that Mr. Lynch had added to his cargo.

As they sat and ate Matthew tried to observe what Mary liked and didn't like about the food, he wanted to know her better and please her.

"I've been thinking," Mary said as her bare hand was free from her riding gloves she took a strawberry. "You must come to London next week, when we leave for the season." She did not wait before prompting him again. "Please say that you will."

Matthew looked into her playful expression and without thinking nodded to her request. He was transfixed by how the sunlight illuminated her face. How could he resist or deny her anything?

"I shall come with you to London," he vowed quietly as their eyes met. Better the demand came from her lips rather than Robert's, at least that much he could control.

"Thank you," she said and they were quiet for several moments as they ate from their picnic basket in the sunshine.

"Perhaps you're not Tarzan," Mary said with a small guarded smile.

"I'm not?" Matthew said with curiosity at what had sparked this thought and change in their conversation.

"I think you are rather more like Mowgli," Mary said engaging him into a conversation about literature.

It calmed him automatically. She was an apothecary with her words stripping him from his stupor. His mind charged at her teasing. It was a battle of the wills, a competition, and he relished the distraction. Matthew dismissed the accusation, she was implying about him being a feral primitive boy. For he realized Mary's taunts could never reach the truth of his origins. His secret was safe from her when he was a character in a novel. Matthew smiled the expression felt foreign on his face. This budding relationship with Mary was exactly as it had been several days ago. And it was pleasant to remember they had shared several conversations about literature already. The distraction felt like a blessing in disguise. And further more they had quintessentially the same taste yet again.

"Kipling is one of my favorite authors," he said warmly. "Although my favorite story is _the cat that walked by himself_."

"Is it?" Mary said with curiosity. "Why on earth is that?"

Matthew chuckled as he tried to come up with an adequate explanation. His mind redirected away from Greek tragedies even though he still felt like Atlas holding up the world.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Please share any and all thoughts if you wish! I am ever so curious.

The next chapter will indeed take place in London.

Cheers!


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